Stay in Touch
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is an AU story. When Kate brings her book to be signed by Castle after her mother is killed, he is curious about the grieving girl. He invites her for coffee, and they become penpals until... The cover art is by @Artifex Prime
1. Chapter 1

Stay in Touch

Chapter 1

Kate can feel her lips chapping. She's been standing in line for almost an hour and thank God, is almost to the entrance of the bookstore. The queue inside leading to Richard Castle's table is long too, but at least she'll be out of the wind. A couple of times when it kicked up, she thought about going home, but if she did, she'd probably just try to bury herself in one of Castle's books anyway. She'd much rather meet the man, for however long it takes to get an autograph. He captured her mother's attention as few other authors could. That alone was a gift. The opportunity to feel close to Johanna Beckett when she reads his words is even more of one. She needs to tell him at least that much, but the line is moving pretty fast. She won't have a lot of time.

Richard Castle glances up at the slim girl holding out a copy of his latest book. With those cheekbones, she'd be beautiful in camouflage makeup, but there are dark circles under her eyes, her hair has lost its sheen, and her skin is pale beneath the ruddiness induced by the chilling weather. "To whom shall I make it out?"

Kate almost smiles. Who but her mother's favorite author would be that grammatically correct? "Make it out to Kate, Kate Beckett." The words flood from her mouth. "Mr. Castle, I know you only have a minute, but I have to tell you how much your work means to me." Tears begin to flow from her eyes as she pictures Johanna curled up in a corner of the sofa with a cup of the hot chocolate they made together and a Richard Castle novel. "My mother was killed, and she loved your books. Reading them - it's like you give a piece of her back to me. And there's so much she used to say about your stories. I wish you had time to hear it."

Castle scans the crowd still awaiting his attention, but his eyes are drawn back to the figure standing in front of him. "Kate, I would love to hear what your mother said about my books, but there are so many people still waiting. Look, if you can stick around, perhaps in the reading corner where they have the drinks and those evil pastries, I can meet you there after I'm finished."

Kate's mouth falls open. "Really?"

"Really," Castle confirms. "Try the _pain au chocolate_. It's incredible. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Kate is on her second cup of coffee when Castle, carrying his own cup, slides into the chair across from her at the small table in the rear of the bookstore. "You really came."

"I told you I would." He inhales deeply of the rich brew he holds in both hands. "Whew! The scents of perfume on women can be stimulating, but being bombarded by hundreds of them, not to mention the body sprays on the men, can be a little overwhelming in a closed space. That's better." He takes a sip. "I can use the heat and the caffeine too. It helps uncramp my hand."

Kate has an urge to reach out and touch his painful fingers but doesn't dare. "I never thought about what it would do to you to sign all those books. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. A little writer's cramp is better than not having anyone show up. That happened after _Hell Hath No Fury_."

This time Kate does smile. "My mother bought a copy but said it might not have been your best work."

"Angry Wiccans out for blood? She was being kind. It was definitely not my best work. Black Pawn almost dropped me. But the next Derrick Storm sold two million copies, so they decided I might be worth keeping around. Tell me more about your mother - and about you too."

"You really want to know?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have asked."

"Mom was a lawyer, a civil rights attorney. It probably sounds corny, but she believed in truth and justice. She worked day and night to get it for her clients, but somehow, she always found time for my dad and me. He's also an attorney. I wanted to follow in their footsteps. I was in pre-law at Stanford."

"You're not anymore?"

"No. After my mother was killed, my father - he couldn't handle it. So I came back to New York. I'm at NYU now. When I finish, I'm going to enroll in the police academy."

"You want to be a cop. Why?"

"Because my mother's murderer was never caught, and I need to try. She spent her life getting justice for others. She deserves to have some for herself."

"How about you, Kate? What do you deserve?"

"The chance to make things right again."

Castle covers her hand with his own. "I hope that you get it, Kate." He reaches into his shirt pocket for a card. "This is my mailing address. Letters are forwarded to me when I'm out of town. Stay in touch. Let me know how it's going."

Kate's fingers close over the piece of cardboard. "Thank you, Mr. Castle. I'd like that."

* * *

Dear Mr. Castle,

I just started classes at the police academy. The competition here is fierce, and I'm up against mostly men. That doesn't matter much in the classroom, but it can make a lot of difference in the gym and in handling weapons. I never realized just how much stuff cops need to have on them all the time. I'm working hard to build myself up. Many of my classmates may still be stronger, but I can be quicker and more agile. I'm also determined to be a better shot.

So far, the bookwork isn't a problem. It's pretty simple compared to what I was learning at Stanford and NYU. To tell you the truth, the curriculum was more intense when I was in high school at Stuyvesant, but that was science and math. Here, there is just a lot of memorization. The number of regulations seems endless.

You're lucky, as a writer, your characters can skirt the rules or ignore them. We can't do that here. If we step over the line the slightest bit, the sergeant is on our butts. Someone like that who follows all the rules might make a good character for one of your books. She'd be a change and a foil for your heroes. Maybe she could even be a cop instead of a spy. Your protagonists get into enough trouble to tangle with one.

I don't want to take too much of your time. I read in the New York Review of Books that you are on another tour, and I understand how draining those are for you. After reading your latest novel, I think the lines will be even longer than the one I was standing in when I met you. I hope the bookstores all have decent coffee and that you don't get sick again from the cream filling in a doughnut. They should have given you _pain au chocolate_. You were right about how incredible it is. I can't get enough of it now. The other cadets tease me about being a chocoholic. Maybe I am. I have an emergency bag of M&Ms in my locker.

Anyway, take care of yourself. Stay in touch.

Sincerely,

Kate Beckett


	2. Chapter 2

Stay in Touch

Chapter 2

Dear Mr. Castle,

I'll be graduating next week. I'm at the top of my class, so I'll have a good chance of serving in the precinct I requested, in Washington Heights. That's where my mother was killed, and the records of her case should be stored there. As a patrol officer, especially a rookie, I won't have clearance to look at them, but I figure that I can find a way. The captain at that station is supposed to be very nice, but I doubt that I'll have much to do with him. I may not even meet him, at least not until I move up in the ranks.

My father saved all of my mother's things. He's still in bad shape, but I'm trying to be there for him as much as I can. In a way, it helps that he couldn't bear to part with anything. I can look through all of my mom's papers and notes, even her address book and calendar.

There is a lot of it that I can't read. She had her own personal shorthand. I think that was partly to save time and partly because she wanted her information to be unusable if someone managed to subpoena it. An attorney's work product is supposed to be inadmissible in court, but she didn't want to take the chance that opposing counsel could get access to private information while she fought that battle.

I've read every book and article I could on codes and ciphers, but I just can't figure out what she wrote. I have a feeling that there is something simple that I'm missing. It may even be something that Dad knows, but he says he never understood her notes either. He may not remember. He drifts in and out of reliving his time with mom. He's barely keeping his law practice together. He's lost more than half of his clients.

Thank God he took on an associate. Marti is barely out of law school, but she is very smart and organized, which is what he needs right now. She makes sure that his motions and briefs are filed on time and that he's there to meet with what clients he still has. I take care that his kitchen is stocked and have dinner with him when I can. That may be easier to manage when I'm out of the academy.

I guess you're back in New York for a while, I saw you on David Letterman. That thing you do with your hair is funny. I knew someone at Stuyvesant whose scalp moved like yours does, except his ears wiggled when it happened. Can you wiggle yours or is that too personal a question? I don't always know what I can ask you. Even though we only met that once, I feel like I know you, but I don't. I know you're married to Meredith Lee Harper. I haven't seen anything she acted in, but I've seen pictures of her. She is lovely. But other than the stories you've told me about your book tours and about how you came up with some of your characters, I only know what's on your book jackets. I can understand if you want to keep your personal life private, but I think I'm developing a cop's curiosity.

Keep in touch,

Kate Beckett

* * *

Dear Kate,

I regret to inform you that I can't wiggle my ears. For years, I tried to wiggle my nose like Elizabeth Montgomery on _Bewitched_ , but I haven't mastered that either. You've never asked me a question that was too personal; I'm just used to keeping things under wraps because I have a five-year-old daughter, Alexis, and I don't want paparazzi sticking cameras in her adorable little face. As you know as an officer of the law, there is also a real danger of kidnapping, so I keep my family life out of the spotlight.

Meredith and I are divorced. We did it quietly for Alexis' sake. It was amicable. We still like each other; we just have very different views of how life should work. There was also another reason, but I don't want to dump that on you. Meredith spends a lot of time on the road doing regional theater, so I have full custody of Alexis. That's one reason why I make my tours as short and concentrated as possible. I don't like to be away from her very long. My mother stays with her sometimes, and I have some sitters that I've vetted very carefully, but I truly enjoy Alexis' company and being a father.

She's in school now, but we still spend a lot of time at the park, weather permitting, and I've started introducing her to zoos and museums. New York is such a cultural paradise along with being a tourist haven, that we never run out of things to do or places to see.

I know you attended Stuyvesant, but you also grew up in the city when you were a little girl, didn't you? Where did you like to go with your parents? Perhaps Alexis will have similar tastes. From what I can tell so far, she's as studious as you are, but she's also into the sci-fi world. We went to a con together. I was Darth Vader, and she was the world's cutest Princess Leia. She loved the lightsaber battles and told me that she wants to learn how to fight with a sword. I took fencing in college, and I still do it to work out, so that will be something we can do together as she grows up. She's learning the basics of laser tag, too. She can just curl her little finger around the trigger. She saw part of the old Tron movie and fell in love with the light effects, so the game fits right in. Maybe I'm just a kid at heart, but I love it as much as she does.

I was at your graduation from the academy. I stood in the back for a while and watched. I have no right to be since I had nothing to do with your accomplishments, but I'm proud of you. It seems like you won every award in the book, and when the commandant stood up to offer you his seat because you had to go up to the podium so often to receive them, it was priceless.

I'm hoping that all those honors mean that you'll get the assignment that you want in Washington Heights, so you'll have access to the records of your mother's case. Just be careful, Kate. As brilliant as you are, you're still as vulnerable to a bullet as anyone else.

I admit that I'm a relentless people watcher. It is essential to my trade, but I've done it ever since I was Alexis' age, maybe even younger. I assume that the man I spied with you after the ceremony is your father. He put on a smile, but it disappeared when you weren't looking. I believe that he's afraid for you. In his shoes, I would be, especially after losing your mother the way he did. And there's nothing like the love of a father for his daughter. Trust me on that. So wear your Kevlar and stay away from the wrong end of a gun. You are too remarkable a person for this world to lose.

Stay in touch,

Richard Castle


	3. Chapter 3

Stay in Touch

Chapter 3

Dear Mr. Castle,

It is amazing to know that you were at my graduation. I will keep what you said about Dad, in mind and try to stay out of the line of fire. But I am a cop now, with all that means. I took an oath, and I intend to keep it.

I was into science fiction when I was growing up too, and I also collected comic books. My Dad took me to Comicadia every week until I was old enough to get on a bus by myself. He probably still has my collection somewhere. My other favorite place to go was Drake's Magic Shop. My grandfather was an amateur magician, and he got me hooked at a very early age. I don't know if that would appeal to Alexis, but you could take her and see what happens. Zalman Drake used to give little shows every Saturday morning. I'm not sure if he still does.

I also loved Coney Island. I still do. Alexis is too young for the Cyclone, but she can go on some of the smaller rides. Beachcombing is fun, and there are lots of interesting characters for you to watch. I love the food. I always liked staring at the batter coming out of the spout for funnel cakes. The taste can't compare with _pain au chocolate_ , or even with _knishes_ , but the process to make them fascinated me. It might catch Alexis' attention.

I did get assigned to Washington Heights. My training officer is named Mike Royce. He's very experienced and also very funny. In a way, he reminds me of you. He always has a story to tell; he just does it out loud instead of writing it down. He understands about my mom, too.

He told me where the records are stored in the basement archives. He even was my lookout when I sneaked in to look at them. Almost everything there was written up by a Detective Raglan. He was the same cop who came to tell Dad and me that my mother was dead. There didn't seem to be anything there that I didn't know already, but my search was cut short when Mike signaled someone was coming.

I went back by myself, which was dumb. I got caught by the captain, Roy Montgomery. I have no idea what he was doing down there, but he found me. I thought I'd be reprimanded or even fired, but he was as nice as I heard he was. He told me that he understands how I feel and encouraged me to keep looking into Mom's death. He said that my determination would make me a good detective and that I should take the test when I become eligible. I think I will. That may be the best way to get justice for my mother and the other victims in this city, but I have a long way to go.

Mike is a great teacher, but I make a lot of rookie mistakes. He sees signs that I don't, like when someone is high, holding drugs or giving us a load of bull. I guess as far as laying it on, it takes one to know one, and Mike can shovel it with the best of them.

I'm looking for an apartment. When I moved back to New York, I stayed with Dad and then I was living in what might be described as student housing if you were being kind. It's not easy to find a place I can afford on a cop's salary. I'm looking at the older buildings in lower Manhattan. A lot of them have been gutted, remodeled, and turned into condos, but there are still a few left in their original condition. The city controls how much the rents can rise in some of them. Mike has a friend who works in the records department of a hospital down there and asked him to let him know when someone with a regulated apartment dies. I told him that I thought the idea was morbid, but Mike says when you're hunting rare game, you have to use every weapon in your arsenal. Waiting to grab a dead person's home makes my skin crawl, but Mike always seems to know what he's talking about.

You take care of yourself too. I can't wait until your next book comes out.

Stay in touch,

Kate Beckett

* * *

Dear Kate,

We have some unexpected things in common. Comicadia is possibly my favorite place in the world. I was also a faithful patron of Drake's magic shop growing up. I confess it wasn't just for the magic. The place sold the best fake vomit in town and great invisible ink. Still, I did learn a few tricks. I can pull a coin out of Alexis' ear. Recently, I've had to switch to paper money. She's no longer impressed by quarters.

I have a new publisher at Black Pawn, named Gina Cowell. While my old publisher let me keep my own schedule more or less, I think that Gina gets off on cracking the whip, so my books should be coming out faster. Alexis likes her for some reason. Maybe she's just partial to strong women, although Gina is no Princess Leia. Still, they get along well enough that Gina has taken Alexis shopping a couple of times. I got to tag along as official credit card wielder. I could feel my bank account screaming in protest as the sprees progressed, but they made Alexis happy. That's what counts.

Gina is a fan of _Le Cirque_. I usually stick to restaurants where there is no one around to plaster my face all over Page Six. That goes double if Alexis is with me, but Gina thinks that it's important that her best-selling author is seen in upscale locales. And I have a feeling that she doesn't mind being showcased as my publisher, either. Someone snapped a photo of us there the other day and sure enough - into The Post, it went. At least Alexis was left out of it.

Publicity seeking aside, Gina can be fun, and if Alexis enjoys having her around, that's something to consider. My mother comes and goes, but she's not around enough to give Alexis the kind of support that should come from a woman - at least not on any regular basis.

It sounds like you and Mike are great partners in both crime and crime-busting. I'm glad that Captain Montgomery didn't lower the boom on you. He seems like a smart man. I'm sure you'll make a great detective.

I've been thinking about your mother's secret code and what you said concerning your father knowing something about it without knowing he does. As I'm sure you've discovered in your research, codes are often based on keys. I'm just making a stab in the dark, but could there be a book, perhaps one that he gave her, that had profound significance to her? It would probably be something unusual, perhaps about a peculiar interest your mother had. Was there any esoteric subject that caught her attention and about which she might have had a reference tome or two? I know for myself, it's lions. I've always thought they are impressive animals. When I sold _In A Hail of Bullets,_ I bought a poster of one, as my totem. I've kept it all this time. His name is Linus - not too original, I know. Linus is up on the wall of my bedroom. Perhaps your mother had a totem also, or maybe I'm just projecting. I thought I'd take a shot.

As the sergeant in Hill Street Blues always said, "Let's be careful out there." Stay safe, Kate.

Keep in touch,

Richard Castle


	4. Chapter 4

Stay in Touch

Chapter 4

Dear Mr. Castle,

"You were right about my mother having an animal that was meaningful to her. She loved elephants. She said it dated back to the first time she saw Dumbo. Mom particularly related to elephant families. She had a china family of them on her desk at work. I have the set in my apartment now.

Mom had more than one or two books on elephants. She had a shelf full. My dad loaded them into a box and put them in his storage unit. I guess it just made him too sad to look at them. I retrieved the whole collection, and I'm going through it page by page to see if anything pops out that might be a key to her code.

The problem is, there are no numerics in her shorthand, just letters, so looking for page numbers or line numbers is out. If there is something else, I just can't see it yet, but it brings back a lot of memories just to read about her passion. Thank you for that.

I'm beginning to get more comfortable on the street. Mike has me chasing suspects down a lot. He's only an inch taller than I am and 18 years older, so I can run faster than he does. Not everyone I chase is even guilty of anything. Sometimes they take off just because they see cops and they're afraid we're going to try to plant something or hang someone else's crime on them. I hate it, but some of the other cops will even go after someone if they're the same color as a suspect, a non-white suspect, even if they don't have any of the other reported characteristics.

Something like that happened a couple of days ago. A black teenager ripped off some stuff from a convenience store. He didn't pull a gun or anything, just stuffed his pants with electronic accessories and ran out of the place. Another unit picked up a kid a few blocks away. Honestly, except for race, he didn't look anything like the description. The thief was dark, and this kid was, I don't even know how to describe it, like a latte with cinnamon, and he had freckles and reddish hair that stuck straight out like an old fashioned clown. I don't think he looked like anyone else I've ever seen.

The reason that I know about the incident at all is that the mother of the kid who was picked up is a cop - a white cop. She and the father are separated, and the kid was spending the week with daddy. The unit that picked him up was embarrassed as hell, but I don't think it was because they were being racist or just lazy, but because they ran up against another cop. And I think it's Rudy Giuliani's fault for letting that kind of thing go on, encouraging it, actually. From what Mike told me, once the mayor put his "Stop and frisk" policy into effect, some cops figured they could do whatever they wanted. I hope that whoever is mayor after him discourages that attitude or appoints a commissioner who does. It makes us all look bad.

I've heard that Captain Montgomery is transferring to the 12th precinct. I want to follow him there when I can. It's a lot closer to where I live now, and Montgomery is a great captain.

I never told you that I found an apartment. Creepy as it seems, Mike was right. Someone died. There was no crime involved, and her death wasn't tragic. The apartment belonged to a 98-year-old great grandmother. She lived a full life and passed away with a huge family around her. There was still a faint scent of lavender in her place when I first moved in. It reminded me of my _nonna_. She used lavender soap.

I have some of my mother's things besides the elephant books and figurines at my new place, and I have my _nonna's_ old frypan. It's battered, but she used to cook the best eggs in it. I don't have much time to spend in the kitchen, but I'm trying to figure out how she did it. My mother made an incredible meat sauce. I'm working on how to make that too. I think it would make my father happy to taste it again.

I only have five minutes left before I go on shift.

Stay in touch,

Kate Beckett

* * *

Dear Kate,

About your mother's code; numbers aren't always Arabic numerals. She could have been using the Roman system. It would have been less obvious. Did her notations have a lot of "I"s, "V"s and "X"s? Just a guess on my part.

Congratulations on your new apartment. The area around the 12th Precinct is an intriguing section of New York. I live there myself, a bit uptown from you. The old buildings have fascinating histories and have sparked my imagination many times. My apartment, loft really, was once part of an industrial building. Waves of immigrants after two wars worked here building lives for their families. Sometimes I imagine that spirit remains like the scent of lavender lingered in your new place.

I know what you mean about racism in the city. I find it galling, myself. I spent a large part of my childhood backstage in the theater, where attitudes were usually a lot more open. If a person had talent, that got them into the club. I think the influence of jazz helped with that.

I have a black friend named Bob Weldon. We play poker together. He's a councilman now, but he is ambitious and very able. I can see him working his way up to mayor. I don't think he's about to beat out Giuliani. Our exalted leader has quite a machine. But he may be able to beat the next guy, and I think we'll see some things straightened out in this town. I hope so.

Can you transfer after your rookie year or will you have to wait until you've served some time off probation? Does Mike want to move downtown too, or will you be parting ways when you are no longer in training? From your letters, the two of you seem to have an excellent partnership.

As far as partnerships are concerned, Alexis talked me into - or more like tricked me into - going on a date with Gina. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. She only nagged me for a chapter once, and Alexis was over the moon at the thought that Gina might be spending time at the loft. I suppose she really misses having someone approximating a mother figure around. My mother is on a nine-month tour of _Auntie Mame_. The part suits her to a "T." Meredith is in California. She snagged a recurring role on a sitcom out there.

It's good for her to have a job she can count on, at least for a while, not that the judge has seen fit to reduce my alimony payments. Acting work is notoriously unreliable. My mother tells me stories about the years when she was trying to raise me as a single mother and earn a living at the same time. I think she made some of them up out of whole cloth, but her tale about freezing on a street corner in February dressed as Lady Liberty, trying to pull in clients for a tax preparer, rang true. I have a vague memory of her costume.

My new book is coming along pretty well. I'm not sure if that's because of Gina, or despite her. I have a place I like to work, while Alexis is in school. It's a writer's bar that has a long and colorful history. Peanut shells crunch underfoot, and ghosts of ancient bootleggers are rumored to inhabit it. That's probably why it's called the Old Haunt. I'm writing this letter from my favorite booth there, but I need to leave in a couple of minutes to pick up Alexis and take her to a playdate.

Stay in touch,

Richard Castle


	5. Chapter 5

Stay in Touch

Chapter 5

Dear Mr. Castle,

You nailed it about Roman numerals in two ways. My mother was using them in her code. They also pointed to the key. It was the appendices in her Pachyderpedia, which were also numbered that way. I've been going through her notes, trying to figure out what she was writing about. A lot of what I've found so far, just refers to old cases, that are long a matter of public record. There is one that she never had a chance to pursue very far before she was killed.

Her client was Joe Pulgatti. I don't know how she could stand to have anything to do with him. He was a mob enforcer, but Mom thought he had been convicted of a murder he didn't actually commit, an undercover agent named Bob Armen. Pulgatti swore that a dirty cop framed him. The police officer who arrested him was Detective Raglan, the same one who claimed that my mother was the victim of a random gang killing. I'm surer now than ever that she wasn't.

She believed there was someone high up in the city who was protecting dirty cops, maybe including Raglan, but she had no idea who it was. I don't either, but I need to research who was at the top of the chain of command when Armen was killed.

I don't have a lot of time to do it. I put in 12-hour shifts with Mike, and I'm still trying my best to take care of my father. I think he's doing better. He seems to be more on top of things, and his practice is growing again. I'm happy for him, but I know in my gut that pain like that doesn't go away. At least mine hasn't.

Mike isn't planning to follow me to the 12th Precinct. He says that he'll be eligible for his pension in a couple of years and he is going to strike out on his own. It will be a loss to the department - and me. There have been days, a lot of them when I've felt like I was dragged out to sea by a riptide like the ones they sometimes have at Jones' Beach. I grab onto Mike, and he pulls me back. I'm not sure how I'll get along without him, but I respect him too much to try to talk him out of doing what he thinks is best for him.

You haven't asked for my opinion about getting involved with Gina, so I'm not going to give it to you. But I will say this, as a cop, the most dangerous and heartbreaking calls I get are about domestic disturbances. Some people should never be together. It not only hurts them, but it can destroy everyone around them, especially the children. I can understand more than most that Alexis wants a woman around, but it should be the right woman for both of you. Figuring out if that is Gina or anyone else is up to you, not to Alexis. There is a lot that little girls, no matter how bright, can't understand. You work so hard at being a good father. You may not think of yourself as one when you're in the middle of a game of laser tag, but you are the adult. It's your judgment that has to count, and from the way you've helped me, it seems to be pretty good.

Stay in touch,

Kate Beckett

* * *

Dear Kate,

You are right, of course. My own childhood as a diva's son was so haphazard that I sometimes - almost all the time - go overboard trying to make sure that Alexis has the best one possible. At this stage, I can't make decisions based on Alexis' opinion, unless it's compatible with my own. I love being the cool dad, but the cool dad isn't always the smart dad. I may be her playmate, but I have to be her father first.

The truth is, I don't think I could ever fall in love with Gina. She is savvy and beautiful, and she does seem to like Alexis, but I need something more than that. I'm just not sure what it is. Unlike you, I did not grow up with parents who adored each other. Mother says she loved my father and vice versa, but I was conceived in a single night of passion, and she never saw him again. If he cared about her, he had a hell of a way of showing it. I imagine him as all sorts of interesting things, an explorer, a spy, even the inventor of spray cans of whipped cream, but in my darker hours, I realize that he is the man who abandoned my mother and me too - if he even knew I existed. That's a kind of man I'd never want to be.

My marriage to Meredith failed, but she gave me the precious gift of my daughter. I can't regret that for a moment. But I want a partner like your parents were to each other. I'm willing to wait, however long it takes, to be with one. It's fine with me if Alexis looks up to women worthy of her admiration. And when she flits into town, Meredith is more than willing to take Alexis shopping and indulge in other feminine pursuits with her.

I am more pleased that I can say that you have found the key to your mother's writings. I have access to a number of subscription databases, including the legal ones, for purposes of my work, so I hope that you don't mind that I did a little digging of my own. Joe Pulgatti confessed to killing Bob Armen, but the deal the D.A. gave him took the death penalty off the table - for any crime he might have committed. If he was a mob enforcer that would have been a pretty good incentive to plead guilty, even if he didn't kill Armen. That would have particularly held if the D.A. had evidence of Pulgatti's other hits.

So the question is, why would the D.A. at the time, William Bracken, put Pulgatti in prison for a crime he didn't commit instead of trying to nail him for the ones he did. If you can find an answer to that, you may be a lot closer to who killed your mother and why. Unless you object, I'll keep looking for answers. Bracken has moved up in the world. He's a congressman now. He puts on a great act as a man of the people, dedicated to improving conditions for his constituents.

I asked Weldon about Bracken, and his answer lent the air a bluish tinge. I'll just summarize. In Weldon's opinion, Bracken is a ruthless opportunist who may do a few things on the surface to make it look like he's serving his district, but is after money and power and will do anything to get it. Killing your mother, or having her killed, might not have been beyond the realms of possibility. So be careful Kate and not just on the mean streets. If Bracken gets even a whiff that you are looking into him, you could lose your job or a lot more. No doubt you've shared the details of your investigation with Mike, and Montgomery also knows you're on the trail but be careful what you say to anyone else. I may sound overdramatic, but I have become pretty used to having you as a pen pal, and I don't want to lose you.

Stay in touch,

Rick Castle

A/N If you are into them, I have another The Rookie one-shot out. This one takes place after The Truth Will Out. It's called "All Night Long."


	6. Chapter 6

Stay in Touch

Chapter 6

Dear Mr. Castle,

I don't know where to begin. I've spent every spare minute I have going through each word of my mother's records on the Pulgatti case. There were three other people she mentioned. She didn't attach any special significance to them, she just made a note of their names, but I decided to run background on them. They're all dead! I found obituaries and death certificates, with the cause of death listed as homicide. I couldn't get access to any more information than that, but maybe with your resources, you can. They were all killed around the same time that my mother was. The victims were Diane Cavanaugh, Scott Murray, and Jennifer Stewart. Diane and Scott died on the same day, March 7, 1999. Please try to use your sources to uncover whatever you can on any of them.

Mike has started to tell me about his plans for when he retires from the force. I think that's because he's trying to keep me from losing myself in my mother's murder. It's not working very well. He says that he wants to be a bounty hunter. I guess in some ways; he'll be back to being a rookie or even a cadet. He sounds excited about it, but unlike what they put on reality shows, most skip trace work these days is done sitting behind a keyboard, not pounding the streets.

Mike is an old school street cop. Computers have never been his thing, but he claims that he wants to learn. I've been trying to support him. He has an old laptop that his sister gave him so he could keep track of the addresses of his family. I helped him update the operating system so he could run more current browsing software. Now he does searches on a lot of things - but mainly beer. He has a friend who owns a cop bar, and they have long conversations on the high points of various brews.

Personally, if I'm going to drink something, I prefer red wine or better still a strawberry shake. Those can be hard to find. Most fast food places only have vanilla and chocolate, except for the mint ones they serve around Saint Patrick's Day. There's a place called Remy's not far from the 12th Precinct that makes strawberry ones. That's one thing I'm looking forward to about working down there. I've heard their burgers are good, too.

My father is continuing to do better. He's picked up a class action suit that is keeping him very busy. I think that's healthy for him. The more time he spends on it, the less he'll have to grieve for my mother. I told him that I solved the riddle of her notes - with your help. He never understood my mother's fascination with your books, but he's impressed with you now and impressing my father isn't easy. You should be proud of yourself. I haven't shared finding out about the other deaths with him. I'm afraid that his progress is still shaky, and I don't want to do anything to knock it off track. When I have something solid about who my mother's murderer was, I'll have to tell him, but right now all I really have is conjecture.

I got a notice from Amazon that there's an audio version of your latest book and that you were the one reading it. I couldn't resist ordering it, even though I have it in print. You have a great speaking voice. It's no wonder that so many of your fans show up to hear you read your books to them on your tours. If you put out more audiobooks, maybe you'll have to do fewer sessions like that, and you can get your wish to be home more with Alexis.

Thank you so much for all your help. You can't imagine how much it's meant to me.

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

I don't think I could stop working on your mother's case if I tried. It's hooked me more than any King or Clancy thriller could. I've enlisted the help of Dr. Clark Murray, M.E. extraordinaire. I've used him before in research for my books, but investigating a real murder is a new arrangement for us. He managed to access the autopsy reports for Cavanaugh, Murray, (no relation thank God), Stewart and your mother.

Dr. Murray believes that the same person killed all of them and that he was a hit man rather than a serial killer. The doctor thinks that the perpetrator may have been ex-military and possibly even served in special ops. The murders were carried out with extreme skill, with one stab wound producing almost instant death, and the rest administered to cover that fact. As far as Murray can tell, the killer used a military-style knife. If it is any comfort to you, he said your mother would not have suffered long.

Bracken couldn't have committed the murders himself. He was never in the military and wouldn't have had the training to carry them out. He would have had to hire someone. That means there is a money trail somewhere and perhaps other connections to be uncovered as well. Bracken had to contact the killer somehow and pay him - pay him a great deal. That process would have left breadcrumbs. We just have to sniff them out and follow them back to the source. I'm making that sound easy, but in truth, I have no idea how to do it. You're the one with the cop training; I'm hoping you can think of a way.

I am pleased to hear that your father is doing well. A class action suit sounds like a lot of work, and it seems to me that they are usually filed for good cause. I've been a minor party to a few when I've been ripped off by purchasing one defective product or another. Typically, the damages I've realized wouldn't buy more than a Happy Meal, but there is always satisfaction in seeing a fat cat corporation have to give up a substantial portion of its ill-gotten gains. I wish your dad every success.

My relationship with Gina is now strictly professional, but I don't think Alexis misses her that much. My daughter has dragged me back to some of the emporiums where Gina took her. She has definite ideas about what she wants. In that way, she's a lot like both her mother and my own. They both have compelling senses of style, even if Mother's is occasionally more like a psychedelic dream than what is sported on an haute couture runway. Their tastes may have something to do with being redheads. All three of them are natural ones, and Alexis definitely has a temper to match her fiery locks.

Whatever your next step will be, I continue to urge you to watch your back. According to Weldon, the buzz in political circles is that Bracken is looking at a run for the Senate. That means he will be gathering even more resources both for financial backing and political clout. Considering the kind of contacts he seems to have already, that will give him just that much more ability to eliminate any threat he sees to his further rise in power. So please be careful and take whatever measures you can to cover your tracks. Be safe, Kate.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	7. Chapter 7

Stay in Touch

Chapter 7

Dear Rick,

I considered what Dr. Murray believes about my mother's murderer being a contract killer. It made me wonder if Bracken would be the only one who's ever hired him. Unless Bracken recruited him right out of the military, he might have had other jobs. If he did, there might be more, yet undiscovered homicides, with his signature M.O. Mike tells me that some of the gangs in the city employ monsters like that to do their bidding. He's helping me put out feelers to cops who might know. If I can tie my mother's murderer to unrelated killings, it may be easier to track him down without alerting Bracken, but I haven't found another one of his victims yet. Mike and I are meeting with some of his buddies at a bar after our shift tomorrow. I'm crossing my fingers.

I remember reading about Dr. Murray in the acknowledgments of one of your books. You said your mother nicknamed him Dr. Death. If what he found leads to my mother's killer, it will be more like Dr. Life. If you talk to him, tell him he has my thanks.

You were right about my father going after a corporate fat cat, but there's more to his suit. It is not about a product being defective, more about it working too well. There is a small company, almost one of those garage startups, that developed a method for printer manufacturers to detect when consumers are using someone else's ink instead of shelling out a lot more money to buy the brand name stuff. That in itself might not be negative. I know I've had printouts screwed up by lousy ink and had to replace a cartridge. I wouldn't have minded a warning.

What the technology my father is suing over does is insidious. It completely disables your printer, so you have to buy a new one. That's cost consumers, businesses and institutions a lot of time and money - way more than the price of a happy meal. If he wins, the settlement should be substantial. Most of it will go to the parties in the suit, but Dad should get to keep a good chunk of it for his efforts. That would help his practice a lot. I really want to see him succeed, not just for the money, but because it will give him a reason to feel that he's done something worthwhile for a lot of people.

I'm not surprised that Alexis knows exactly what she wants to wear and is stubborn about it. That attitude isn't unique to redheads. I went through a lot of clothing stages including a ten-month long grunge period. My mother just let them pass as part of growing up. I thought my father looked relieved when I dressed, as he put it, "like I'd been sleeping in a boxcar." I guess he figured it would keep the boys away. It didn't. I was dating a grunge musician. The kid eventually got over both grunge and me and joined the Marines. I think he has a crew cut now. My father might even like him better. It will be a while before you have to worry about Alexis dating, but she might fall prey to the fashion judgments of her classmates in a few years. That could be a rough time for both of you. When I was going through it, I was terrified every time I put on an outfit, that my girlfriends would say it was lame. My grunge phase ended that for good, so I suppose, all in all, it was a positive experience.

I was even a model for a summer. I was earning money toward a motorcycle, and I thought modeling would be easier than waiting tables. It wasn't. Standing in front of a camera hour after hour and trying to keep just the expression the photographer wants, is exhausting. And the worst part of it was that strawberry shakes and hamburgers were off the menu. Starving just to be featured on the pages of a magazine was not how I wanted to spend my life. From the way you've described Alexis, she's probably too independent-minded to strive for the kind of unrealistic image created by a fashion spread. I hope so.

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

I've been doing some research on other murders, besides the names your mother cited, that your mother's killer might have committed. I already had my references lined up because I use them to help me come up with plausible scenarios for my books. There are a lot of accounts of stabbings, but very few of them appear to have been carried out with any professionalism. They are mostly muggings or drug deals that went bad or as you've mentioned before, tragic outcomes of domestic disputes.

I found one that at first glance might have appeared to be a falling out among thieves. The victim was one Finn Rourke, the alleged leader of the Westies. As you probably are aware, that's the Irish gang that regards Hell's Kitchen as its turf. I won't know for sure until Dr. Murray gets a hold of the autopsy report, but it sure looks to me like Finn was taken out by your mother's killer. He was stabbed multiple times in an alley right behind his own pub. Apparently, he was out there having a cigar, something his wife had forbidden. The bar was full of his own people, but no one saw or heard anything. None of the rival gangs claimed credit.

And here's the thing, and you may already know this too. Finn Rourke never allowed drugs in his territory. He was into gambling and various protection rackets, but not drugs. Since Finn met his maker, drugs have invaded the neighborhood he so fiercely guarded. There have been multiple overdose deaths, as well as an increase in thefts that addicts may be committing to finance their habits.

My theory is that a dealer or a network of dealers was looking to expand sales into Rourke's domain. They couldn't do it with Rourke in charge, so they hired someone to take him out; someone they could disown if he was caught. He never was identified. Rourke's homicide is a cold case the police appear in no hurry to solve.

Kate, if you – or Mike – can get some word from the streets as to who is dealing drugs in Hell's Kitchen, you'd be a step closer to your mother's killer. I know it's a long shot, but it has to be easier and maybe even safer than trying to make a connection to Bracken. I'm sure the Westies would love to know who killed Rourke. They might even be helpful. You'd just have to keep them from killing the murderer first if they figure out who it is. Not that he doesn't deserve it. If the State of New York still used electric chairs, I'd be happy to watch him fry in one. But while the wielder of the knife may have been the hands, if Bracken was the mind behind them, it will be hard if not impossible to nail him if the stabber is taken out before he can give him up.

I will pass on your thanks to Dr. Murray. And thank you for your insights into my daughter's behavior.

I'm going to keep reminding you to be careful, Kate. Even if you're not tangling directly with Bracken, we are still talking about extremely dangerous people. Considering how many victims die of drugs, it's clear that those who foist them on society would not hesitate to eliminate a cop or two. Be well and be safe.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	8. Chapter 8

Stay in Touch

Chapter 8

Dear Rick,

I know I haven't written in a while, but as you probably figured out, it's because of what happened at the World Trade Center. No one on the force has had a spare moment. Even if we did, I don't think we would have wanted to pull back from what we were doing.

My father almost went down with the towers. He had a meeting arranged to take some depositions there, but it was scheduled for an hour after the planes hit, so thank God, he hadn't arrived yet.

Stuyvesant turns out a lot of lawyers and bankers. Some of the victims were my old classmates. I didn't know them well, but it is still a shock that they were so senselessly lost.

I saw you answering the phones on a telethon, so I knew that you were all right. That was a relief.

Before the city was thrown into chaos, Mike and I made contact with a detective who has a confidential informant inside a major drug operation in Washington Heights. He said that there's a hitman attached to the organization that channels drugs from Afghanistan into the United States. That might have been who killed Finn Rourke - and my mother. According to the information we got, the M.O. matches and Afghanistan would make sense with a military connection if he was involved with the support the U.S. gave the Afghans fighting the Soviets. He could have tied up with the drug trade back then.

I can't afford to think much about any of that right now. There is still too much to do. I guess that since you've become part of the relief efforts, that's where your head is too. Things are tied up in so many knots. With air travel having been almost shut down and so many precautions being taken against terrorists or bombs getting into the city, people are running low on supplies.

We have to guard against looting. Looters aren't as dangerous as terrorists, but they may be even worse human beings. At least the terrorists believed in something enough to give their lives for it, as horrible as what happened was. Looters have no consciences; they're just trying to take advantage of a massive tragedy.

Mike and I have collared some of them. It was all I could do to stick to cuffing them and taking them to Holding instead of beating their heads in. I'm sure Mike felt the same way. When he pushed them to their knees or made them lie on the ground, he wasn't gentle about it.

At least most New Yorkers are trying to do whatever they can to help each other. I'm sure you're seeing that too. I have no idea how long it will be before things calm down. I can't see them ever really getting back to normal. The whole city is so traumatized. But from what I've seen so far, people are pretty resilient. Whatever it takes, we'll get through this.

I hope all is as well as it can be with your family.

If you can, stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

There were people I knew who were killed in the attack on the Twin Towers as well. I can't say that any of them were dear to me, but it still was like a punch in the gut. My chief investment advisor had offices there. He was lost. I was a regular patron of the restaurant that was destroyed on the upper level. I knew the manager and several of the servers. They were good, hard-working people. Their families have suffered not just their personal losses, but financially as well. For many people in this city, it takes every cent of income to stay afloat, and of course, that is gone now, in most cases with no insurance or outside help. The holes blown in so many lives are impossible to fill, but I'm doing my best to contribute patches where I can.

As I wrote to you, Mother has been on tour, so she's unable to return to New York any time in the near future. I let her know as soon as I could that Alexis and I are all right. I'm not sure I was entirely truthful about my daughter. She's been quiet, too quiet. Usually, the only time she's that silent is when she has a raging sore throat, and even then, I get hand signals, notes, and even the occasional drawing.

I may have shielded her too much, even as she's grown to this tender age. The reality of a catastrophe of this magnitude threw her into total confusion. She hardly ate for days. I couldn't even coax her with chocolate ice cream. She wanted to watch way too much news, even if she didn't understand much of what was being said. Perhaps she was hoping that at the end the credits would roll, and the collapse of the towers would be revealed to be a special effect in a terrifying movie. I wished that were true myself.

I'm sure you know more than I do about efforts to raise money for the families of the first responders who've been killed and injured. I've been asked to be a small part of them. I'm writing a novella featuring heroes like those who gave their lives. All of the profits from sales will go to the cause. Theoretically, the term novella kicks in when a story exceeds about 17,000 words, although that's not a hard and fast rule. I'm writing as much as I can as fast as I can and hope to exceed that amount by some margin. There is no shortage of material. The question is not what stories to include, but rather those I'll have to leave out. They may go into a full-sized book later, also pro-bono on my part. Black Pawn isn't kicking, but frankly, I wouldn't care if they did. There are things more important than royalty checks.

I did stumble across something that makes recent events seem even more tragic if that's possible. As you must have gathered by now, I use all kinds of sources when it comes to developing my stories. One of them is a forensic dentist. Her name is Sephora, and she comes from Israel. She is part of the team working to identify the victims, and I wanted to talk with her about that. I did, but she also told me about something else. She keeps in touch with her compatriots in her home country. She still does some work there as well after terrorist attacks and other disasters. Her colleagues told her that before the planes flew into the buildings, Israel suspected that an attack was imminent. They raised their own alert level and as far as Sephora's contacts could make out, warned intelligence agencies in the United States.

The warning may have been ignored or not deemed credible, but Kate, there's a chance that if our people had their act together, the terrorists could have been interdicted and the attack averted. That is something that I hope the powers that be will look into - hard. Hearing Sephora's account made me think about what will happen if Bracken becomes a senator or even worse, makes it to the presidency. Having someone like that at the top who is more interested in accruing his own power than in protecting the people of this country, could make a clearly flawed system so much worse. There is so much more at stake than getting justice for your mother. If Bracken is the sociopath that we believe him to be, we have to stop him. Whatever it takes, we have to stop him.

Even more than ever, take care of yourself and be safe. The world needs you, Kate.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	9. Chapter 9

Stay in Touch

Chapter 9

Dear Rick,

I know it's been a while. Mike has an old sports car that he loves, and a jerk ran a light and T-boned him while he was driving it. Mike ended up with four fractured ribs and a broken arm. His back was messed up too. I try to look in on him as much as I can, and I'm stuck with another training officer while he's recovering.

It hasn't been easy adjusting to a new partner. He's nothing like Mike. The man's a hard ass named Marcus Donovan. The way he sticks to the rule book, he'll probably end up in Internal Affairs. I wouldn't want to cross his path when he does.

Mike has always been into what works, whether it's the standard procedure or not. I've gone along with that. One time I even offered to show a perpetrator my breasts to distract him long enough for Mike to disarm him. That gambit worked but partnered with Donovan; I can't do anything else like it. He's like Joe Friday in old Dragnet episodes, you know, "Just the facts Ma'am." And I don't think Donovan likes me, either. Maybe I'm imagining things, but he seemed upset that he'd be working with me. Mike should be back on duty in another month, two at most. I'm counting the days., both for his sake and mine.

I bought a copy of your novella. It was wonderful and inspiring. I'm hoping that someday I can do something as heroic as the smallest fraction of what the men and women you wrote about did. I can't wait for your full-sized book.

I hope that Alexis is doing better. She wasn't alone in the way she reacted. A lot of the cops at the precinct have kids, and from what they've told me, most of them were very shaken up by 9/11.

I've been following the hearings by the 9/11 commission. I assume you have too. It sounds like the Israelis weren't the only ones who expected an attack. Do you believe that our people put out a document warning that terrorists would attack using aircraft but took no action to prevent it? It turns my stomach just to think that our government could have dropped the ball that badly. I'm hoping that as a cop I can do a better job than that.

Have you heard the noise Bracken is making on the news? He's come out against sending troops into Afghanistan. In a way, he has a valid point. The terrorists who attacked us weren't Afghans. Most of them were Saudis, and the rest were from the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, and Lebanon. Somehow, I don't think that's Bracken's real reason for his objection though. If his hitman was involved with the flow of drugs from Afghanistan, maybe Bracken is somehow too. That would make him an even bigger monster than we thought. Worse than that, it might make him aware of any further investigation into Finn Rourke's death.

I had to back off on that when the planes hit and then when Mike was hurt, but I've never given up on it. From what little I've been able to get, Rourke had a soldier named Jackie Coonan who was assigned to keep drugs out of Westie territory. When Rourke was killed, Jackie dropped off the radar, but he has a brother, Dick, who by all accounts is some kind of a minor saint. I've been trying to get an appointment to talk to him, but the times he's available are when I'm on duty and Donovan isn't about to go for any side trips.

I'll be done with my rookie year in about four months. At least I should be able to finish it out with Mike. I may be able to stay on as his partner until I transfer, or he retires or both. I hope so. After working with Donovan, I dread to think who I might get stuck with next.

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

Our failure to communicate is more my fault than it is yours. I should have dropped you a line, whether you had time to write to me or not. You're the one out there on the front lines.

I too am dismayed by the details coming out in the commission's investigation. Hopefully, the remedies they recommend will lead to more security for our country. I just hope they don't go overboard, at least not more so than what's already happening in this country. Have you been in an airport? Trying to get on a plane is like trying to get into Fort Knox.

I was sorry to hear about Mike's accident. Even though I've never met him, I feel like he's a friend, just through your letters. I wish Mike a speedy recovery from his injuries and respite from Donovan and his rule book for you. I hope I can meet Mike someday. I'd love to hear his version of how you offered to expose your precious assets to the bad guy.

Alexis seems to have gotten over most of the impact of 9/11. I notice she still startles easily. I think everyone in the city does now. But she's back to consuming ice cream at her regular rate. Mother blew into town and rebuked me about that, which was hypocritical since she indulges in therapy by frozen confection herself, but apparently, she thinks I should be more careful of my daughter's diet.

Mother's new nutritional demands may stem from her attachment to a new guru. She's had a series of them over the years, moving through yoga, transcendental meditation and an assortment of new age fads. The latest one is some TV doctor hyped by Oprah. I love the indomitable Ms. Winfrey, but she does endorse some strange characters. That psychologist she promotes gives some of the worst advice I've ever heard. Meredith and I tried some of the relationship exercises he recommends. I think if anything, they broke us up faster. In any case, Mother is back on her tour, and my freezer is again fully stocked.

Along with finishing my full-length portrayal our heroic first responders, I'm penning a new Derrick Storm novel. I think you'll appreciate this one. I'm introducing a new character, Derrick's father, Carl. I won't spoil it for you any more than that, but I figured that if I can't have a father figure, at least my taller and more pumped up alter-ego can.

In your last letter, you didn't say anything about how your father or his lawsuit is coming along. I hope that the trauma of the last few months didn't set him back. I realize that compared to three thousand deaths the loss of printers might suddenly seem trivial, but bad behavior by large corporations is not. It affects a lot more people in this country than terrorism does. I enjoy thinking that your Dad is still pursuing the good fight.

I did a little checking of my own on Dick Coonan. His charitable foundation puts out brochures and was more than happy to send me one. With the few particulars it gave, I was able to find the postings required by the sunshine laws for supposed non-profits. The figures don't add up, Kate. Coonan claims to have built several schools in Afghanistan and that his organization has an extensive compound there. Just the name of the country was a red flag. But more to the point, I don't believe he raises nearly enough money legitimately to have constructed what's depicted in the glossy photographs in his promotions. Either the funds are coming from elsewhere, the pictures are phony, or both. He may just be a huckster, but it could be more than that. Be careful Kate. If Dick Coonan does indeed have a presence in Afghanistan, he could be connected with the drug trade and possibly even with Bracken.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	10. Chapter 10

Stay in Touch

Chapter 10

Dear Rick,

It's supposed to take three or four years to become a detective. I'm determined to shave as much off that as I can. It's hard to get any kind of information as a patrol cop, especially under Donovan's watchful eye. He has us doing a lot of traffic stops. I know those are important, especially after what happened to Mike, but I don't get much chance to talk to other cops or learn anything except the niggling details of moving vehicle violations. I don't know any more about Dick Coonan, and as far as I can tell, Jackie Coonan disappeared from the surface of the earth or at least pulled a hole so far in after him that it's impossible to dig him out.

I did have a little bit of excitement - terror actually - for about a minute. I pulled over a car of teenagers. A guy in the back seat was playing with a gun. It looked like he might point it at me, but it's lucky that I know a water pistol, even a realistic-looking one when I see it. He didn't have water in it. The kids had filled it with cheap booze and were passing it around. The driver only blew a 0.03 on the intoxilyzer, way under the limit, but he was too young to be drinking at all, as were the others in the vehicle, so of course, we had to take the whole bunch of them in. I thought I smelled pot in the car too, but Donovan couldn't find any. They might have had a joint or two, earlier. The odor would have still been in the upholstery. I was much more concerned about the alcohol. If they'd gone on with what they were doing, someone could have been hurt or killed.

Mike is recovering faster than the doctors thought he would. He's just too stubborn to keep down. He may be back with me in a couple more weeks. He was worried that he wouldn't be able to get his car fixed. The collision stove in the door, but luckily it didn't bend the frame. It was hard finding another door for that car, but it gave him a chance to practice his computer search skills. His baby, complete with a new paint job is ready to go now. It's in better shape than he is.

I'm glad I don't have a car. In the city, public transportation is a lot faster, and the price of parking is ridiculous. I can rent, or borrow an auto from my Aunt Theresa if I need one. I do miss my Harley. I put it in storage when I went to Stanford. Someone broke into the garage where I was keeping it and stripped it. Restoring it is on the list of things I want to do after I've nailed my mother's killer.

All of the cops on patrol in Washington Heights have been instructed to have an extra sharp lookout for dealers and drug buys. There's been an uptick in overdoses. According to dispatch, there are more calls than usual. Narcotics has a theory that the drug network up here has been reorganized. They are sure that the strength of the product is increasing. We are all carrying Narcan. So far, I haven't had to use it. But cops from several of the other units have saved addicts with it.

I can't help wondering whether Dick Coonan or Bracken has something to do with the change in the drug situation up here. I think the truth is that they are both always at the back of my mind, and I can't help seeing reminders of them wherever I go. Something has to pop soon.

Keep in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

I went to an event to raise money for schools in Afghanistan. It wasn't put on by the Coonan foundation, but Dick made an appearance. He probably thought that it was good PR for him, even if he wasn't receiving any of the money. I put on my best philanthropic author act and dropped in on him at his table. I'll be on his radar in a positive way now.

Coonan's a big man with a lot of muscle on him. He doesn't come off like someone I'd expect to find sitting behind a desk or chairing a charity event. But he smiles a lot. Too much. Watching him made me think about what the ghost of Hamlet's father said about Claudius, "that he may smile and smile, and still be a villain." Claudius poured poison into the king's ear; I can visualize Dick Coonan grinning as people shoot it into their veins.

I don't suppose you could suggest to someone in Narcotics that Coonan might be worth some surveillance, or isn't the word of a rookie taken seriously? Maybe, if you have a chance, you could say something to Captain Montgomery, since he seems to appreciate your considerable mettle.

I'm making excellent progress on both the books I'm writing. I've almost finished the tribute to the first responders, and I'm about halfway into my next Derrick Storm. I have to admit, I've developed a real affection for Carl. Mother says that except for his white hair, I've made him look a lot like the way she remembers my father. Do you think that sounds Freudian? I've had a little therapy here and there. I went to a few sessions after my divorce from Meredith and also for a couple of months after I had to throw out a book I was writing and was afraid that I was losing my touch. But that was cognitive behavioral stuff. The practitioners weren't worried about my dreams or how I felt about my parents.

Alexis has a new interest - art. I took her to MOMA a couple of times, but she wasn't very interested. Recently she saw a video about painting on YouTube and all of a sudden; she wants to be the next great master. Honestly, I don't think that will ever happen. I got her a set of paints that will wash out and not make her sick if she ingests them, but she doesn't show any signs of being a protégé. I'm not surprised. Her crayon drawings warm my heart but have never shown signs of genius. I'm loathe to admit it, but there were a couple of kids in her pre-school class that did better ones. However, if my daughter is happy wielding a brush, who am I to discourage her? If Andy Warhol could take the art world by a storm with soup cans, anything is possible.

Mother thinks it's more likely that Alexis inherited her (questionable) talent for music. I've seen children a lot younger than Alexis start on the violin and get pretty good, sometimes very good, at playing one. I'm considering getting lessons for her. Alexis can sing on pitch, which to my ears already puts her a step up from what I sometimes hear from Mother. But to be fair, when the diva is off key, there is usually alcohol involved.

I read a blurb in The Ledger about your father's class action case. The few lines in the business section sounded encouraging for your Dad but not so much for the windmill at which he is tilting. It looks like just about anyone who's ever had a printer quit at a critical time is on the side of the angels. Let's hope that includes a judge and or jury.

Keep taking care of yourself, Kate. I believe that we're close to a breakthrough on your mother's murder. I can feel it in my bones.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	11. Chapter 11

Stay in Touch

Chapter 11

Dear Rick,

Being a philanthropic author isn't an act for you, it's what you are, and it's terrific that it gave you an in with Dick Coonan. I still have no idea if he's connected with what's happening in Washington Heights right now, or not.

Mike is back as my T.O., so I have a lot more chance to pick up information from his contacts. The word on the street - God, that's sounds like bad TV cop show dialogue - is that there is a new boss, or rather a returning boss, of the drug trade up there. When my mother was still alive, it was run by a thug by the name of Vulcan Simmons. When the campaign she started to clean up the streets in that area took hold, Simmons faded from sight. No one heard of him for years. But there have been sightings again, and the fatalities are growing every day.

His products of choice used to be heroin and cocaine, but the cheap stuff, like brown heroin from Mexico. Now he appears to be hawking not only a more refined and deadly form of heroin but oxycodone as well. There has been a steady stream of thefts from pharmacies and distribution centers, that could be feeding his supply chain. Unfortunately, even if Narcotics can find his headquarters, they have nothing substantial to bring him in on. Any good lawyer could get him turned loose in a couple of hours. The lab has analyzed some of the new heroin that's been found on the addicts and lower level dealers that have been picked up. From what I've heard, it has a chemical fingerprint like the junk that comes in from Afghanistan. That suggests Dick Coonan and maybe Bracken.

Jackie Coonan has turned up, or his body has. Someone killed him and buried him in the woods in Westchester. No one would have ever known, except that a local hunting enthusiast was training his fox hound to track deer, and the dog went crazy over a spot with loose earth. The body was too badly decomposed to establish a cause of death definitively, but Jackie's DNA was on file, and it was a match. The M.E. thinks Jackie might have been in the ground for months, and Dick never even reported him missing. I'd hate to think that even a fraud like Dick Coonan could be that deranged, but I wonder if he had something to do with Jackie's death. Otherwise, you'd think he would have at least looked for him.

Bracken seems to be on TV and radio more and more in New York. It makes sense if he's running for the Senate. He'd need the public presence, but every time I hear him, it makes me want to puke.

I've spent more time at the cop bar that Mike likes, and picked up some stories that I never heard from him. About seven years before my mother was killed, there were rumors that there was a rogue band of cops going around kidnapping members of the crime families, beating them up and shaking them down. Some of the older detectives thought John Raglan and his partner Gary McCallister might have been involved. They both suddenly moved up to nicer apartments. That was back when Bracken was D.A. It was also around the time that he started making noises about running for Congress. I checked. Bracken wasn't known for having money then or for having much in the way of generous political supporters, but while the dirty cops were on the hunt, he managed to build up a war chest. Bracken made his deal with Pulgatti then, too. I'm wondering if there was a connection, but I can't figure out how it would have worked. Maybe that writer's mind of yours can. Please try.

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

Thank you for the kind words. I try to help out when I can, but it's not like I'm out there every day putting my life on the line as you do. I'm just willing to part with some money that Alexis and I don't need for food, clothing, or shelter. There were times in my life when I could have used it for all three. I know what it's like not to be sure where your next meal is coming from. In my college years, until I started getting royalties from _In A Hail of Bullets_ , that was often my state of being.

I knew you would be picking up another lead on Bracken. Perhaps I can help you fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I did some research on the alleged rogue cops that you mentioned. There was some stuff in the paper about them back in those days. Ironic as it seems, the articles mostly sprang from complaints about vigilante justice, from alleged members of the five crime families. It is entirely possible that Raglan was involved. You of all people know how difficult it is to afford a decent place on a cop's salary. I searched the public records. Raglan didn't rent his apartment. He bought it, but there's no record of a mortgage. Same with McCallister. For cops to have that kind of money stinks to high heaven.

My theory is that Bracken got on to what they were doing and shook them down the way they were shaking down criminals. They might have thought that Bob Armen was actually part of a crime family, and been involved in his death. That would have jibed perfectly with the deal Bracken made with Pulgatti to take the fall.

If your mother had been less dedicated to justice, even for the scum of the earth, Bracken's gambit would have worked perfectly, and she would probably still be around. But then she wouldn't have been Johanna Beckett, any more than you'd be the Kate Beckett I've come to know if you weren't kicking ass and taking names. When your mother got too close to what Bracken did, he had her taken out, along with anyone else connected to her investigation, all by the same hitman. And now that hitman has been working for the drug dealers and took out Finn Rourke. From the information we've assembled on his background, and what I've seen of Dick Coonan up close and personal, it is entirely possible that Dick Coonan is the one who struck the mortal blows. And if he's that bereft of any spark of humanity, he may have killed Jackie as well. That would certainly account for his lack of concern over his brother's disappearance. He would have known precisely where he was.

As you are no doubt thinking, this is all conjecture, but it is well-supported conjecture. Kate, the place to get the evidence we'd need to prove our suppositions would have to come from Raglan, McCallister, or one of the other dirty cops - if there were others. I can't imagine why any of them would spill the beans to you. They've had a long time to develop a conscience, and it hasn't happened yet, or even more likely, they're scared to death that if they open their mouths, Bracken will have them taken out. There's a literary device that has become a bit of a cliché. It consists of coming up with a character who is basically good but went down the wrong path. Eventually said character can no longer live with the weight of his dirty deeds and confesses.

It may be a cliché because it does happen in real life. Bad actors do occasionally lay their burdens down to the willing ears of loved ones, cops, and prosecutors. Maybe there is a cop that even now is tortured by the demons of his past. Perhaps the best trail to follow is whatever was left by those who misguidedly tried to mete out their own brand of justice. Cops have to make records of everything, don't they? Some of the paperwork must still be around.

Tell Mike that I'm glad he's back to watch over my favorite member of the force.

Stay in touch,

Rick

A/N I'll be putting up a new The Rookie Story soon, probably today. If you're wondering about the cat...


	12. Chapter 12

Stay in Touch

Chapter 12

Dear Rick,

Narcotics caught a break. Customs seized a container of pirated videos that were shipped in from Hong Kong. One of the drug-sniffing dogs went after it, and the agents discovered that they'd confiscated a lot more than DVDs. All the cases were loaded with heroin. The lab said it was the high quality stuff, just like what's killing addicts in Washington Heights.

The detectives brought in the importer. He's a ne'er do well named Jimmy Dreesen who has been trying for years to make a killing selling questionable merchandise on the web. I guess he figured there was more money in fronting for drug dealers.

From what Mike heard from his buddies, the detectives did everything they could to sweat the name of his drug source out of Dreesen, but they couldn't get anything. I googled Dreesen. He has a bio on his website. He went to the same high school that Bracken did, and the time they were there overlapped by a year. That can't be a coincidence. I'm doing everything I can to find more on Dreesen, but so far, I haven't had much luck.

I pre-ordered your full-length tribute to the first responders. I'm looking forward to reading it. I'm anxious to experience Carl Storm, too. He sounds like a character that will appeal to many of your readers.

I was at Comicadia a few days ago. My dad's birthday is coming up, and he is a rabid baseball fan. He's been taking me to games ever since I could walk. There is a graphic novel out called _The Golem's Mighty Swing_. It's not only a great story about the game, but the art is also incredible, and I believe he will enjoy it. I saw a man and his daughter flipping through the pages of a Star Wars comic, and I thought of you and Alexis.

How is her painting coming and did you get her violin lessons? I knew a girl when I was growing up who was the daughter of two musicians. She got her first violin at four, and by the time she was in first grade, she was ready to be in the orchestra. I lost track of her when I went to Stuyvesant, and she went to The High School of Performing Arts. I thought that she'd end up in the New York Philharmonic, but I saw her playing the electric violin for The Strategos, and she was fantastic.

I fool around with a guitar. I picked it up in high school. I never had time for lessons, but I learned a bunch of chords, and I can figure out how to play a song when I feel like it. I do it when I let my hair down - literally - when I'm off duty.

My rookie year is almost over. I ran into Captain Montgomery at the cop bar, and he congratulated me on my record. He asked me if I'd learned any more about my mother's case, and had the weirdest look on his face when I told him that I was making progress, but I still didn't have anything solid. He advised me to go through her things, even anything that seemed irrelevant. I'm sure he was trying to be helpful, but I've been through her stuff more times than I can count. Other than what I found in her notes after you helped me break the code, I don't think anything was there. But I'm going to look again. I know we haven't seen each other since your book signing, but I was wondering if there's any chance you could search with me. You and I seem to think of things the other one misses and so far, what we've come up with has fit together. I know that your family time is important to you, but Mike and I are on swing shift right now, so I'm free in the morning and early afternoon, when Alexis would be in school. If that would work for you, I have everything at my new apartment. It wouldn't take you long to get here if you're willing to talk to me face-to-face again. I'll understand if you can't do it but please

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

Of course, I'll help you go through your mother's things again. As I told you, I'm as hooked on your mother's case as you are. The problem is, I'm going to be out of the city, and I don't know for how long.

Mother fell on stage at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. She broke her femur and is going to be laid up for a while. The doctors don't want her to travel to New York, and there's no one to watch over her there, so I'm going to Minnesota. After I get her settled, I should be able to vet someone to take care of her, but Alexis and I are getting on a plane this afternoon. I've arranged for her schoolwork to be sent to me so she can keep up while we're gone.

Yes, I got her a violin and lessons, and she has become very attached to her instrument. She wants to take it on the plane with her. Her teacher referred us to an old friend in Saint Paul who can fill in for her while Alexis is with me in the Twin Cities.

As you might guess, Alexis has abandoned painting, much to the relief of our housekeeper. The drips and spatters were washable, but it took some elbow grease above and beyond what it usually takes to clean up after the family Castle. I made sure that Alexis helped, but it was still a lot of work.

I envy you your time at Comicadia. It's been a while since I've been there. I confess that I had no idea there were graphic novels about baseball. My mother dated a player or two, so I got to know a few of the Yankees but growing up, I never had the chance to toss a ball around with anyone. To tell you the truth, the few times I've tried throwing or catching either a baseball or a football, I've been a dismal failure. Fencing is really the only sport - if you don't count laser tag - at which I have any skill.

I guess there is one more. I can hit a target pretty well with an actual gun. I started with arcade games, and then I figured that if I was going to write about heroes who use firearms, I'd better know something about them. I did the research, but I wanted some experience with the real thing. I was tutoring a college classmate in writing. He was into hunting and taught me how to shoot as my fee. I was as surprised as anyone that I became proficient. Being able to work through what it actually takes to handle a pistol or a rifle comes in handy when I'm trying to figure out scenes for Derrick Storm. It helps me choose what weapons he'll be using, and I can also be more realistic about the actions of the villains I invent. One thing about my fantasy that Storm is able to press 300 pounds is that he can handle a recoil that would probably dislocate my shoulder. That does add to my options.

Solving your mother's case is more important than any fictional scenario I could dream up. As soon as I can, I will let you know when I will be returning to town, and we can set up a time to get together. I'll even bring the coffee. There's internet where I'll be staying in Minneapolis, and I'll be checking my email regularly.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	13. Chapter 13

Stay in Touch

Chapter 13

Dear Rick,

I hope that everything is all right with your mother. I understand putting your family first. With any luck, your mother will mend quickly. The father of Louie, one of the guys at the academy, broke a femur. He was doing a 10K race at the time and fell really hard on the pavement. He's a minister but was obsessed with running. Louie thought his father would be down for weeks or months, but he wasn't. The doctors put a rod in his leg, and he was preaching at church within a week. He had a walker at first, then a cane, then nothing. Once the cane was gone, people couldn't even tell which leg he broke. Louie thought it was amazing. I hope that your mother does as well. From what you've told me about her, I can't see anything keeping her down for long. A stage has to be at least as strong a siren call as a pulpit. I googled the Guthrie. It's a very prestigious theater with great plays. It says a lot about your mother's talent that she was acting there.

I have one more week left as a rookie now. There won't be any new ones coming into Washington Heights in the coming year. Members of this year's class will be going to other precincts. That means that Mike won't need to be a T.O. and we can stay partners until my transfer comes through or he leaves the N.Y.P.D. That's a relief to me. I would never have been able to gather most of the information I have about my mother's murder without Mike - and you.

I don't know if you understand just how grateful I am to you, and not just for your insight and your research. Somehow, I received a delivery of a baseball signed by Joe Torre, from an anonymous sender. It made my father's birthday. It may have made his year. I can't think of anyone but you who could possibly have sent it. And the fact that you did it when you were so concerned with your mother is amazing. Thank you.

I went through my mother's things again, by myself. I didn't find anything new except some pictures that she took after she gave me a pair of ice skates for Christmas. For some reason I can't understand, they were in an unmarked envelope. They didn't give me any insights into her case, but I'm thrilled I found them. They brought back a great memory. Mom and I went skating at the rink at Rockefeller Center. I was about as good on the ice as you are catching a ball, but I had a great time anyway. After we left the rink, Mom and I had hot chocolate and some of the best apple pie I can remember tasting, complete with whipped cream on top. Then after we got home, we pulled an afghan that my Aunt Theresa made around us, ate popcorn, and watched old movies. My dad joined us too see Gary Cooper in _Pride of the Yankees_ , the story of Lou Gehrig. That was bittersweet.

I'm still looking forward to having your eyes search for a clue I might have missed - if you're still willing to get together when you're back in New York. I hope that you are. Maybe it's because of what Captain Montgomery said, but I just can't shake the feeling that there's something I haven't noticed yet.

I saw Bracken on the news this morning. The story was local, so it probably wouldn't have been shown in Minnesota. Can you believe he was talking about how as a Senator he thinks he can do more to address the drug problem? I wanted to throw something at the screen. Fortunately, I didn't have anything heavy within reach. I can't afford to buy a new TV.

I'm hoping that you can come back soon.

Keep in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

Alexis and I will be back in New York very soon. I found a health aide that can stand up to my mother. Ramona's only five foot one, but comes on with so much authority that Mother meekly follows her commands. It's some trick. I wish I knew how she does it. I have a nursing service coming in to check on Mother too, but I think that if anything goes amiss, Ramona will spot it immediately.

I want to make sure Alexis is settled back in school, and I have a meeting at Black Pawn. They are exploring different options for my books. The company is considering putting them out in paperback. Who knows? They might even like your suggestion that I make audio books. I can throw it out there. I will be at your service after I get that out of the way. My only proviso is that I want to see those pictures of you in ice skates. I'm sure that you must have been adorable. If your mother is in any of the shots, I'd be fascinated to see those too. After learning so much about her from you, I'm curious to see if my mental image of Johanna Beckett resembles what the reality was.

Concerning your mystery package: before I left the city, I was at an organizational meeting for a Foundation to combat domestic violence that Torre is trying to get going. He is an old acquaintance of Mother's and asked if I could lend a hand - by which he meant sweet talking some potential donors with fat wallets into opening them. I happened to mention that I was aware of a superfan who had a birthday coming up. I imagine that Joe has signed thousands of balls over the years and I'm glad that one could make it into your father's hands.

It's great that you'll be able to stick with Mike, at least for a while. I'd love to have a chance to meet him someday. I would not be above stealing one or two of his stories. I would of course suitably disguise them if I used them in a book, but real life is often more interesting than anything I can make up.

There are some things in the Twin Cities, notably in Saint Paul, that I think you might appreciate. You know how difficult it can be to navigate the sidewalks of New York when they ice up. I've ended up on my butt more times than I'd care to admit. Elevated walkways connect many buildings in downtown Saint Paul. You can go to the bank, or whatever, without setting foot on the cold ground. I can think of places in New York where an arrangement like that would be welcome. There is also a music school here where the children start very young. That's where Alexis' interim violin teacher works. The kids are very impressive.

I am a New Yorker, born and bred. Sometimes it seems like New York is the center of the world, or at least denizens of the city act as if it is. But our town doesn't have the corner on innovation or talent. It is alive here in the often frozen North and in many other places I've visited. As Alexis grows up, I'm going to make sure that she is well enough traveled to appreciate what people everywhere have to offer. Her life will be more vibrant for it. If her enthusiasm for music holds, she'll be able to hear the best.

I'll let you know when Alexis and I are wheels down.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	14. Chapter 14

Stay in Touch

Chapter 14

Kate gazes around her apartment. It doesn't look too impressive. It has the solid construction of a vintage New York City building, complete with high ceilings and wood moldings, but her furniture is mostly finds from second-hand stores or family contributions. The rug on the scarred hardwood floor is threadbare, and her appliances are almost antique. On the few occasions she's had time to use the oven, she had to light the pilot with a match. Her heat, such as it is, emanates from ancient radiators and a hot water pipe in the kitchen.

She's hoping the one thing that will attract Rick's attention is her bookcases. They're constructed of scrap brick and wood planks but well filled with mysteries, including all of his, science fiction, and literature. They hold the plastic crates housing her comic book collection as well. She has a special shelf for elephant references and the china pachyderm family that her mother loved.

Her mother's papers and records are laid out on an aged but well-cared-for table donated by her Aunt Theresa. What wouldn't fit, remains in boxes. The chairs are sturdy enough to have held Theresa's late husband, who was extremely fond of pasta. At least Kate won't have to worry about Rick ending up on the floor.

Kate wasn't sure what to do about food. Rick said he'd bring the coffee, and a surprise. It will probably be better than anything she could offer. But just in case, she has a bag of her favorite cookies; rich shortbread dipped in dark chocolate. If her guest stays long enough, she can make the two steaks she has in the freezer, nuke potatoes in her one up-to-date kitchen addition and throw together a salad. She has chocolate ice cream too - just in case. She got the feeling from Rick's letters that he is as fond of it as his daughter is.

She glances at her watch. She has time to dust. Or maybe she should vacuum again. But if she's running the noisy machine, she might not be able to hear the bell. She draws a shaky but deep breath into her lungs. She shouldn't be this nervous. She and Rick have been writing to each other for years. It should be like she's expecting an old friend, not awaiting the arrival of a date for her first dance. Somehow the butterflies in her stomach are unconvinced. She will dust. At least it will be something to do until he arrives.

* * *

Rick surveys the contents of the display case in Michelle's Bakery. It's been his go-to source for incredible pastry for years. Of course, he'll bring Kate some pain au chocolate. In a way, it's almost a tradition. But he wants something more, something special, like one of Michelle's chocolate cheesecakes, with a dark chocolate crust and curls of dark chocolate on top. No. That's too much chocolate. Kate loves strawberries, at least strawberry shakes. He gives some thought to going by Remy's to get her one, but he's already bringing the coffee. It wouldn't make much sense. His eyes light on the prize: layers of feather-light cake, filled with fresh strawberries and topped with whipped cream - and not the stuff that comes out of a can. The confection practically screams for him to bring it to Kate.

Normally he'd take the subway or even walk south to Kate's apartment. In New York, That's often easier and faster than trying to drive and worse, park. Laden with his bag and box, he decides to take a cab.

After hailing one, he realizes that instead of settling into the cushions of the back seat, he's perched on its edge. He can't remember the last time he was this nervous. Damn! It's not like it's a date. No. It's more important than that. It's not just that he'll be seeing Kate again after years, and he has picked up a few crow's feet while she has probably been coming into blossom. He's been out with plenty of beautiful women, but Kate's depending on him as if he's some kind of a savior. He's not sure he can live up to that; not sure at all.

His taxi pulls up in front of Kate's building, and he passes some bills to the driver, not waiting for change or a receipt. He most likely gave the man too big a tip, but that doesn't matter now. He just has to keep breathing until he can see Kate.

The arrangement of doors is typical. The outer door is unlocked, but Rick has to ring Kate's bell and have her buzz him through the inner one. It takes a moment for her to answer. She sounds a little breathless, and her voice is deeper than he remembered. She's on the third floor. There's an elevator, but it's on another level, and he doesn't feel like waiting for it. The wood creaks under his feet as he climbs stairs worn narrow in the center by decades of use.

Kate wonders if she should open her door for Rick's arrival or wait for him to knock. She decides on the first option. His hands may be full. She suspects they will be. She spots him as he reaches the landing. He's thinner than he looked on TV, almost like the day he signed her book. She should have known he would be. She had to be ten pounds underweight to compensate for the camera when she was modeling. He's not only carrying coffee containers but a bakery bag and box. She guesses that her cookies can stay on a shelf in her kitchen.

Rick's eyes meet hers with a tentativeness she doesn't remember. "Hi, Kate. Can I come in?"

Not trusting her words, she waves him inside.

* * *

Rick pages through another stack. His speed reading skills allow him to absorb the words quickly, but so far, he isn't finding anything that Kate hadn't already noticed. He picks up a Manilla envelope and grins as he pulls out the contents. "These are your skating pictures. I was right; you were adorable. Is this your mother?" Kate nods. "She was beautiful. Her face was a little fuller, but you still look a lot like her, especially around the eyes. Yours reflect the same stubborn quest for the truth."

Kate shoves her hair behind her ear. "I just wish I was finding it."

Castle pulls out a strip of negatives. "There are four pictures your mother didn't have printed unless she had the prints elsewhere." He holds them up to the light. "There are two men in them. It's hard to make out features in a negative. There's a camera shop a few blocks from here that makes prints in an hour. I noticed it on my way to your place." He stands up and offers his elbow. "Care to take a stroll, Ms. Beckett?"

Kate hesitates for a moment before slipping her arm through his. "Mr. Castle, I'd be delighted."

Rick's and Kate's pace is much faster than a stroll, with Rick's long legs easily keeping up with Kate's hurried stride. Neither of them needs more caffeine or sweets, and they decide to get a table in a nearby soup bar until the pictures are ready. No more than a spoonful is consumed from the bowls of chicken noodle in front of them while they wait. Rick stretches his hand across the table and Kate laces her fingers through his.


	15. Chapter 15

Stay in Touch

Chapter 15

With a tacit agreement with Kate not to open the packet containing the pictures in public, Rick signals a passing taxi for the short ride back to her apartment. Rick would have loved to order eight by tens, but the time to produce them would have exceeded the hour that was already too long. Kate agreed to double prints of four by sixes, the largest size available on an express run. She grips the thin envelope tightly for the few minutes it takes the cab to pull up in front of her building. Rick watches as she fumbles with her key to the security door. "Take a breath, Kate."

Once they are inside her apartment, Kate jerks open the adhesive flap of the camera shop's packaging and pulls out a set of photos for herself and one for Rick. He stares at the first image. "I recognize a younger version of Bracken. Do you know who the other guy is?"

Kate nods slowly, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. "It's detective Raglan. Rick, this is proof that they knew each other. Raglan must have helped Bracken pin Armen's murder on Pulgatti."

Rick's forehead furrows as he continues to study the image. "Or Bracken pinned it on Pulgatti to cover for Raglan." He studies the rest of the prints. "They all look the same except - there's someone else in the last one. You can see his shadow and a piece of his face around the edge of the building. Wait a minute." Rick pulls his keys out of his pocket. They're attached to a small magnifying glass. "I got this for pulling out splinters Alexis used to get from a wood see-saw at the park before they replaced it with a metal one." Rick focuses the lens on the mystery figure. "He's African-American. It looks like he has a little mustache. That's all I can tell."

He passes the magnifier to Kate who gasps as she examines the image, recognizing the shape of the nose and the one eye she can see. "Rick, that's Captain Montgomery when he was younger. He knew! He knew about Raglan and Bracken. But if he was involved, why would he have urged me to look into my mother's case? He could have had me kicked off the N.Y.P.D. if he wanted to. It's like he needs me to uncover whatever was going on with the cops and Bracken."

Rick swipes a hand over his face. "Maybe he wasn't involved. Maybe he wanted to expose the dirty cops but couldn't for some reason. I picture a young cop, maybe not much more than a rookie, stumbling onto whatever Raglan and the others were doing at the time. But he's afraid to say anything. Does Montgomery have a family?"

"Yeah. He got a call from his wife while we were at the bar together, reminding him that he would have to get the kids to school in the morning because she had an early meeting. His oldest girl would already have been born then."

"So, if Bracken had that much power, Montgomery might have kept his peace to protect his wife and child, and later his other children as well. He kept telling you to look through your mother's things, right?"

"Last time I saw him, he could hardly talk about anything else."

"If he was spying on Bracken and Raglan, and he knew your mother was looking into Pulgatti's case, maybe he slipped her some piece of evidence against them."

Kate slams her palm onto a pile of papers on the table. "But what? We haven't found anything like that. There wasn't even a mention of it in what I decoded with Mom's Pachyderpedia - unless there was something I missed."

"Can I see the book?" Rick asks.

Kate leads the way to her elephant shelf and hands him the heavy volume. He scans through the pages. "Everything you'd ever want to know about Dumbo's relatives, or," he points to the figurines, "that little family. Kate, was Daddy elephant broken at some time?"

Kate shakes her head. "I don't remember that happening. Why?"

Rick points. "Because there's a seam joining the two halves of his body and neither Mommy nor Baby has one. It's like he was very carefully taken apart and glued back together. There wouldn't be much room inside. If I were writing this into a spy story, there might be something on a microchip in there."

The corners of Kate's mouth turn up on their own accord. "Mom wasn't quite that technological, but there were little cassettes back then. I remember a couple of kids I went to school with used to record stuff they needed for tests on them and play them while they were sleeping to make the facts seep into their brains. I usually got better tests scores than they did, so I never tried it, I just studied. One of those tapes might fit inside Daddy, but it would be tight."

"Which would make it all the better," Rick speculates. "It wouldn't have room to move around and rattle. So what do you think, Kate? Are you willing to risk your memento to find out?"

Kate clamps her jaw. "I guess I'll have to be."

Rick runs his finger over the almost invisible line on the largest elephant's back. One thing about fatherhood is that you learn to cope with breakage, intended or otherwise. If we're lucky, your mother might have used super glue to put this together. We may be able to dissolve it with acetone, or something with acetone in it. He glances down at the strawberry pink adorning her fingertips. "Have any nail polish remover?"

Kate wordlessly retrieves a bottle, along with a box of cotton swabs, from her bathroom.

Rick claps his hands together. "Excellent. Let's find out what secrets your paternal pachyderm is keeping."

The process of dissolving the adhesive seems agonizingly slow to Kate. If the figurine hadn't been so precious to her mother, she would have been tempted to smash it open. She's noticed Rick checking his watch a couple of times before calling his housekeeper to make sure that she'll be there when the school van drops Alexis off and can stay as long as necessary. Finally, the halves part. Kate's eyes widen as a microcassette drops out. Her fists clench at the realization that she doesn't have anything she can use to play it.

* * *

While getting her steaks ready to thaw, Kate hears a shout of "Eureka!" from Rick. He has been calling every electronics store in the New York City Yellow pages to find one that still carries machines that can play a microcassette.

He looks up at her as she runs out to the table where he's been working. "They have one at the Electronics Emporium in Brooklyn, Kate. But if we're going to get it, your steaks should stay frozen. The store closes at seven. A car would never make it through the traffic this time of day, but if we pick up the "2" train, we should be there in time. I just need to call my daughter and my housekeeper and tell them I'll be back later. Alicia can make evilly delicious chicken nuggets and french fries for Alexis to compensate for my absence. My daughter has a thing for sweet and sour dipping sauce."

"So do I," Kate confesses. "Except for when the Szechuan is available."

Castle reaches for his jacket. "A woman after my own heart. I'm a fan of heat myself, most particularly the fires of hell I'm hoping will claim Bracken after we find out what's on the tape."


	16. Chapter 16

Stay in Touch

Chapter 16

In the packed subway train, Rick and Kate are both standing, trying to hold onto a pole for balance, as their car lurches along the tracks. With a screech of brakes, Kate is thrown against Rick. She regains her footing, but doesn't work at it too hard or too fast. It feels good to have someone to lean on, just as drawing strength from his letters, has helped her make it through the past few years. She's not sure if she would have survived them without his lifeline.

Rick physically supported Kate only briefly, but the impact of the feel of her body against his was profound. For years, they'd reached out to each other only through the written word. She existed mostly in his mind, as he imagined how the tortured girl he'd met so briefly had grown into a woman. He hadn't realized how much of a change there would be, or how intensely he be attracted to her. They may exchange emails, but he doubts that he can ever return to just being a pen pal again. He wants, he needs, to know Kate; every stray hair, line of her face and curve of her slender form. But this is not the time, and he's not even sure there will ever be one.

Kate is entirely in thrall to her obsession, and until she can resolve it, there will be little room for much else in her world, especially a writer ten years her senior and feeling older by the second. Still, he can't remember working more closely with anyone than he is with Kate on solving the mystery of her mother's murder. Their thoughts seem to build on each other like the girders of the Eiffel Tower reaching skyward. What's on the tape may be the most crucial part of the puzzle yet. Despite the jerking and cacophony of the train, it can't move too fast for his purposes.

* * *

Rick might have thought the Electronics Emporium was a converted barn if it hadn't been in a long urbanized section of Brooklyn. The ceilings soar to an arched roof and mezzanines supplement the floor space. Shelves overflow with devices dating back at least to the wire recorders used in the forties. Compared to those eclectic collectibles, a micro-cassette recorder would be new and commonplace. He strides up to the modern register, with Kate at his side, and gives his name. For a long moment, the clerk rummages in shelves beneath the counter, before coming up with the tiny recorder, labeled "Richard Castle, will call." "Not much demand for these," the bespectacled, balding man comments.

"I'm old school," Castle declares, pulling bills from his wallet for payment.

"Rick, you don't have to do that," Kate protests.

"My pleasure," Rick assures her. "I want to hear what's on the tape that's searing its way through the lining of your purse, as much as you do." He looks back at the clerk. "I don't suppose you have a listening room here?"

The man grins. "In fact we do. It's mostly for vinyl fans who want to experience their treasures on '70's quad systems. They can even make out the pressing errors. It's soundproof and not occupied at the moment." He points toward the back of the cavernous structure. "Right next to the restrooms. But you'll need batteries for that thing if you want to play anything on it." He presses two "AAs" into Kate's hand. "On the house."

Kate slips her cassette into the machine and chews the tip of her finger while the leader tape works its way through the mechanism. The words she and Rick hear are like a blow from a sledgehammer. The speaker is Bracken, his more youthful voice higher in pitch, but his speech patterns, including his signature phrase of "Count on it," are unmistakable. He is issuing a warning that he is in complete control, and if anyone opens their mouth or gets in his way, they'll end up with a bullet in their brains or bleeding out on the pavement like the Beckett bitch and all her friends. He goes on to point out that he has people they don't want to meet, including the best knifeman in the country.

Kate can hear another voice, she recognizes as Raglan, assuring Bracken that there won't be any leaks. There are several grunts of agreement. Kate has no idea who's making them but wonders if one is coming from Montgomery, or if he might have managed to plant a bug somehow. The tape ends with static and a click.

Rick pounds his fist into his palm. "This is it; we have him!"

Kate is shivering and her voice trembles. "Just the tape isn't admissible without corroborating evidence."

"How about voiceprints?" Rick asks. "Can't what's on the cassette be compared to recordings of speeches that Bracken's made?"

Kate nods. "Yes, but the judge would still require testimony that the tape is unaltered."

"There are forensic audio consultants," Rick points out. "I've researched them for my books. They can testify as to whether anyone tampered with it."

"They could," Kate agrees, "but it would be easier to convince a court to admit the recording if we had the person who made it swear to its authenticity. I need to talk to Captain Montgomery, and not just in a conversation over a beer."

Rick presses her pale hand between both of his own. "We need to talk to Captain Montgomery. And I think I know how we can do it."

* * *

"Rick, I'm not sure I have that kind of juice with the commissioner," Weldon protests. "He lives in my district, but only the mayor has the authority to give him any orders."

"And we both know that that's what you're going to be soon," Rick points out. "All the polls show you're a rising star. The commissioner has to understand that. He should be willing to play ball."

Weldon shakes his head. "I don't know Rick. He's his own man. That's what I've always liked about him. But if I tell him that he may be helping to clean up his department, he may be willing to go along with me. I can give it a shot."

Rick puts a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "Just be your persuasive self. That's all I'm asking."

* * *

Montgomery has been at 1PP before, but never at the behest of the commissioner. He doesn't even know why he's here. He sips coffee while he waits in a well-padded chair at a massive conference table. If he is in some kind of trouble, this isn't where he'd be called to face it, at least he hopes not. There's a box of doughnuts in front of him. As far as he can tell, unlike the ones in the precinct break room, they're even fresh. But he has no appetite. There's a lump in his throat he can't swallow away.

The door opens, and Kate Beckett comes in, followed by a man he's only seen on book jackets and late night TV. This is not a situation he'd anticipated. Kate takes a seat between him and her companion. "Captain Montgomery, Mr. Castle and I found a tape in my mother's things and listened to it. It proved that William Bracken was responsible for my mother's death. Now I need you to help us make sure he's never in a position to ever hurt anyone else.


	17. Chapter 17

Stay in Touch

Chapter 17

Montgomery cradles his face in his hands before meeting Kate's eyes. "I never thought your mother would be killed. I looked up to Raglan and McCallister. I believed that they wanted to clean up the city. Then I found out what they'd really been doing, and how much of it was for money. It was even worse when I discovered that Bracken was pulling the strings. But I was afraid to do anything. Kate, you know what the blue brotherhood is like. It was even stronger then. If you turned on another cop, no matter how crooked, you were done for. And it wouldn't have just been me. I had to protect my family.

"When your mother and all the others were murdered, I was sure who was behind it. I couldn't let what was happening, go on anymore. I was in a stall in the men's room at the bar when I heard Raglan and McCallister talking about a meeting they and their vigilante gang were having with Bracken. From the sound of it, he'd ordered them to be there. I got a bug out of evidence and planted it on McCallister before he went. That's how I made the recording.

"I sent it anonymously to your mother's office. I don't know what I was thinking, maybe that whoever took over her cases would bring it to the Feds. But it didn't work out that way. Her office closed down completely, and I thought that the tape was either destroyed or hidden in her things somewhere. I don't know if I was hoping that you'd find it, or that you wouldn't."

Kate pushes out of her chair. "There would have been no one in the office but Mother's paralegal, Leah. That's who packed up. Dad couldn't handle it and neither could I. She must have been scared out of her mind when she listened to the tape. Leah put everything in a storage locker and sent Dad and me keys. After that, she left the country. She had a lot of family in Israel, and she would have had a right of return. Maybe she believed that Dad or I would find the tape sooner or later and go after Bracken when it was safer."

"Would she have known how dear those elephants would have been to you?" Castle asked. "Would that have been why she hid the tape where she did?"

Kate paces around the table. "Leah was with Mom for years. She stayed with me at the office sometimes when I was little, and Mom couldn't get a sitter. I used to play with the elephants and draw pictures of them. Leah might have believed that I wouldn't want to part with them after Mom was gone."

"And she would have been right," Castle notes.

"So now that you have the tape, Kate, what are you going to do with it?" Montgomery demands. "Bracken's more powerful than ever. He could send someone after you."

Kate's eyes become steel. "Let him try. My mother couldn't see it coming. I can. But I need you to back me up."

Montgomery shakes his head. "You'll need more than that. You'll need protection. So will Mr. Castle and his family - and mine. I didn't have the rank, or the guts to arrange anything like that when Bracken had your mother taken out, Kate, but I do now. We're going to get that sonofabitch, whatever it takes!"

* * *

Dear Kate,

I never foresaw being under guard like this, but I suppose Montgomery is right, and I could never do anything to endanger Alexis. I watched the video of you serving the warrant on Bracken at his New York office. Honestly, I've viewed it at least 100 times. I don't think it will ever get old.

What is getting old is not being able to see you face to face. In the short time we spent together, you became my muse. My mind overflowed with inspiration like one of those volcanos you make as a science project in middle school. I feel like you're the piece that's been missing from my life all these years.

At least my time in virtual isolation is not being wasted. Black Pawn accepted your idea about audiobooks. I had a very well-armed escort back and forth from the recording studio, and I finished narrating one. The process was more difficult than I thought it would be. I've read to my fans for a half hour or so, but to do a whole book required several doses of tea and honey. I would have preferred scotch, but for that kind of work, you can't afford to slur your words. If the fans are willing to shell out to listen to me for that long, Black Pawn will want me to record another opus.

I finished writing my latest Derrick Storm and have begun a book with new characters. The protagonist is based on you, or rather what I imagine you will be like sometime in the future. She is a kickass detective. There is a writer character too, not a physical ideal like Derrick, but I think you'll like him.

The case against Bracken seems to be moving at a pace that makes a sloth look speedy, but I was informed that lawyers using every trick in the book to slow down the proceedings, is common when a client can afford the attorney's fees. Also, as I understand it, Bracken offered Coonan up as a sacrifice to make a deal, and investigators are trying to confirm what Bracken claimed. You must know more about that than I've gleaned, but I hope it's true, as long as Bracken and Coonan both end up spending the rest of their execrable lives behind bars. I wouldn't mind seeing either of them torn limb from limb by wild horses or hung upside down by their family jewels, but I understand that's considered cruel and inhuman treatment. Not that either one of them would qualify for membership in humanity.

Alexis is weathering all of this remarkably well, better than I am. She adores the cops that guard her. My spunky little girl always wants to make cookies or something for them. She says it's like having warriors like the ones who fought for Princess Leia and that they should get medals like the ones Luke and Han got in the last scene of _A New Hope_.

I have a beach house in the Hamptons. The view of the ocean is exceptional and always gives me a feeling of peace. I also have a swimming pool on the grounds, which I can adjust to a more comfortable temperature than the Atlantic runs anytime but July and August. I have a part-time housekeeper who comes in from the village and keeps the dust from piling up too high and the refrigerator well stocked. I'm hoping to retreat there when this is all over for a while, to recharge. I imagine that I'm not the only one who could use a sanctuary like that. I know that for you, peace is something that has been in short supply for a very long time. I'm hoping that when the time finally comes that the guards are gone and Bracken and Coonan are no longer a threat to us or anyone else, we can spend some time together in the sunlight.

If it's possible, stay in touch,

Rick


	18. Chapter 18

Stay in Touch

Chapter 18

Dear Rick,

From what I hear, which has had to come through Montgomery or from the nosing around that Mike is doing, Bracken and Coonan have been tripping over themselves to throw Vulcan Simmons, the scumbag they installed - reinstalled really - to run the major drug operations in the city, under the bus. They are telling competing stories, each detail of which is being thoroughly investigated. That takes time, and everything has to be coordinated not just with Narcotics but with the DEA. Since both Bracken and Coonan have international reach, multiple federal agencies have become involved, which slows things down even more. In the end, the city and the country will be better for it, but right now there are a bunch of bureaucrats fighting for jurisdiction.

I'm on desk duty, surrounded by cops every moment. I still have a security detail when I go home. Mike's been assigned another partner, at least temporarily, but we talk almost every day. That helps me keep in touch with the streets better, but I'm still anxious to get back out there.

Your beach house sounds incredible. My parents rented one, probably a lot smaller than yours, for a couple of weeks during the summers when I was growing up. Those were some of the best times I can remember. Neither one of them was checking their watches to make sure they made it to a meeting or court on time. They could just talk or lie around enjoying each other's company. My dad listened to ball games on the car radio, because they didn't want to have a television out there, but other than that, they could spend their time together.

Most years they let me invite a friend along. My favorite one was Maddie Queller, whom I met in ninth-grade French. We would talk about boys and do each other's hair and makeup. We also played imaginary games based on comic books and the shows we'd watched on TV back home. It was a little like improvisational acting. We'd make things up as we went along and acted out all the parts, including the heroes who were our fantasy love interests. I got caught up in it so much that for a while I thought I might want to major in theater in college, instead of law. But I was too impressed by what my mother did to hold onto that idea for long.

I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that I would love to spend some time with you at your house in The Hamptons when it is possible. Would you be bringing Alexis along? I would love to meet her, but I would think that after all her activities have been restricted by security concerns for so long, she'd want to spend some time kicking back with her friends. I suppose it's too soon to worry about that.

Bracken and Coonan occupy a lot of my mind, but people are always coming into the precinct with strange problems, and as a desk jockey, I get to cope with a lot of them. One woman brought in her dog, a Pekinese. She showed me a picture of what it usually looked like: one big ball of fluff. One side of the dog had been shaved, and all the fur was still on the other side. The little thing could have played Two-Face in a canine version of Batman. The owner claimed that her neighbor had mutilated her pet because she'd had a tree on his property trimmed back because it was blocking her satellite dish and interfering with her TV reception. She didn't have a photograph or video or any other kind of proof that he'd done the deed, but she insisted that she wanted him arrested immediately.

I sent a unit out to interview the suspect, and he confessed. The cops who talked to him said he seemed proud of himself. They wrote him up for the destruction of property and animal abuse. I'm not sure what will stick. I don't think the pooch suffered, but I suppose that a vet could testify about that as an expert if the doggy barber decides not to plead guilty.

If I find out any more about the cases against Bracken and Coonan, I'll do my best to let you know as soon as I can.

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

You've given me an idea for the heroine of my new book. She'll have started out as a theater major. Acting skill could come in handy when she goes undercover. I can think of all sorts of scenarios where she'd want to do that. You truly are my muse, even at a distance.

I can picture that Pekinese. What kind of a dog do you envision as playing Batman? The Cowled Crusader is so dark and brooding. There aren't many breeds with that kind of personality. Perhaps a German Shepherd who had been part of a K-nine squad and seen its master shot down in cold blood might fit the bill. There would be a lot of details to work out about that scenario, but DC might like to use it as a story for its younger readers. If I ever get a chance to pitch it successfully, I'll give you a writer's credit.

I can't say that I was planning on bringing Alexis along for our time in the Hamptons. She would love to meet you too, and I'm sure we can make that happen at some point. However, I'd like to send her to music camp this year if we are out from under the blanket of security in time. I've prepaid the fees, and I'm crossing my fingers. She's made so much progress on the violin that I think she'd be over the moon to be continuously surrounded by experts who can help her reach the next level.

Despite your obvious amusement with the weird parade of characters at the precinct, I believe that I sense your itch to return to the mean streets. Or perhaps I'm just projecting how the detective - her name is Nikki Heat, by the way - I'm basing on you would react. She too had a loss that is driving her, but I can't picture her ever pulling back from her quest for justice, even after she's collared the scum who motivated her to choose police work. I can't imagine you doing so either.

Alexis will be delivered home from her daily academic pursuits soon, and I promised that we would make brownies for her blue-uniformed knights. I have a proprietary recipe with chocolate chips, chunks, and Reese's Pieces. It has been the hit of several school bake sales, so I imagine your brothers in arms will enjoy it. Someday I hope you'll get a chance to try it as well. I need to measure out the Reese's and hide the bag again before Alexis gets home, or else she'll finish them all. Hardly a felony, but when she's eaten too many of them before, it's made for some long and queasy nights.

Candy overdoses are one of the easier parenting problems to solve. I don't know what I'll do if she decides someday that she wants a motorcycle the way you did. I'm hoping that's a challenge I'll never have to face. Right now I need to hotfoot it into the kitchen. Be safe, Kate. I hope to see you before too many more days have passed.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	19. Chapter 19

Stay in Touch

Chapter 19

Dear Rick,

Bracken's and Coonan's attempts to shift the blame onto Vulcan Simmons have backfired bigtime. Since their statements are tantamount to a confession that they have been receiving funds from illegal activities, a judge invoked the Judicare Act of 1873, of all things, to freeze their assets. That means that they will no longer be able to afford their armies of highly paid attorneys to throw every obstacle in the book in the way of the prosecution. Both legal teams realized that they couldn't profit from their efforts and resigned.

That leaves both Bracken and Coonan with court-appointed lawyers. As you know, they're both being held without bond. They have no access to the internet, and their phone conversations with anyone but counsel are monitored. They could have communicated with co-conspirators through their previous attorneys. Bracken might even have been continuing to run his network. Montgomery was afraid that one or both of them would put out hits on you and your family or me or anyone else that might have evidence against them that way. But the lawyers defending them now will have no motivation to pass on orders like that and every reason not to. They consider themselves the good guys.

All of that means that when Montgomery is thoroughly convinced that Bracken and Coonan are too isolated to direct any more criminal activity, he'll lift our protective details. I'll be able to go back to working with Mike to clean up the streets, and you and Alexis will be free to do whatever you like.

I have a few vacation days accumulated. The weather is warming up fast, and I was wondering if your invitation for me to join you at your house in the Hamptons is still open. I couldn't stay very long, but it would give us a chance to spend some time together. You could tell me more about Nikki Heat.

I get that heat is another word for cop, but where did Nikki come from? I'm sure you have a reason for the name. When I think of Derrick Storm, I visualize a tall steel structure reaching upward from a maelstrom. It fits. He's big, he's strong, and in his way, righteous. I like the idea that Nikki would have acting talent, too. That opens the door for all kinds of undercover assignments. Those could be more exciting than just interrogating witnesses and nailing perpetrators with forensic evidence.

Music camp sounds like a marvelous opportunity for Alexis. She can be with other young people who are as passionate about music as she is. I can't imagine anything more amazing than being with people who understand what makes you tick. Mike was a person like that for me when I needed it the most, and I think through our letters all these years, you've understood what's driven me even more than he has. And you have the bonus of recognizing the importance of Comicadia. Mike's superheroes pursue their missions mostly on the football field or in a hockey rink.

The cases against Bracken and Coonan aren't the only ones that seem to be working out. Maybe you saw something about this in The Ledger. My father got an offer of a very substantial settlement from the company he's suing. He'll have to notify all the parties involved, of their option to accept it before he can wrap the matter up, but the outcome looks very promising for him. He still misses my mother terribly but he seems to have found his footing again, and I'm incredibly happy for him. I'm hoping that he and I will be able to catch a game at Yankee Stadium when it is safe for him to be around me again.

There's so much I want to do when the siege on both you and me is lifted.

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

Of course, my invitation to The Hamptons is still open. I can't wait to see you, there or anywhere else, even over questionable coffee at Java Hut. It is poetic justice that Bracken and Coonan have hung themselves. The mills of the gods are supposed to grind slowly but exceedingly small, but for a while, I wondered if they had just ground to a halt.

About the name, Nikki Heat, Heat does indeed refer to her being a cop, but also to some of her other qualities as well. As far as Nikki goes, I changed the spelling slightly, but it is a diminutive of Nicole, which means victory. Just as it took you years to hunt down your mother's killers, no matter what it takes, including a series of books, Nikki will reign victorious. After basing her character on you, I couldn't have it any other way.

Along with Nikki's acting skills, about which I'll probably hear chapter and verse from my mother, I'm wondering if she should speak a foreign language or two. It would help in infiltrating gangs and syndicates. You mentioned your Nonna. Do you by any chance speak Italian?

I took French in school, but I'm not fluent. I've picked up a smattering of other languages in my travels, with no real skill in any of them, but most places I've been I could find a bathroom and keep from ordering anything too stomach curdling off a menu.

I did read about your father's triumph, and I couldn't be happier for him - and for me. As a writer, I need to be able to count on my printer. I like to make hard copies of my resources. I imagine that comes from long hours spent in the public library. Mother considered it a safe place to stash me when I was a kid. It was more than safe; it was illuminating. The more books I absorbed, the more I wanted to read. I think the experience helped make me into a speed reader, but Mother brags that I've been quick to decipher the written word from the time I was a toddler. I have no way of knowing if that's true or just a tall tale. She's told more than a few of those about me over the years. Sometimes I think she's come to believe some of them, the way she believes in the lines her characters say when she plays them. Perhaps that's why she can convince me, and just about anyone else, of almost anything.

When I was ten, I was with her at the library downtown, the one with the lions out front, but in a different section. Some stranger walked up to me and offered me a copy of Casino Royale. I have no idea who he was, and I don't remember what he looked like very well, but thinking back, a lot like the way I've portrayed Carl Storm. I loved the book, and it made me want to write spy stories, even if I have woven in a bit of P.I. and cop over the years.

I think the adventures of Nikki Heat may be even more exciting to write than the saga of Derrick Storm has been. I'll see some version of you with every word I commit to the page. But I'm sure she will never quite compare with the heart and verve of the real Kate Beckett, with whom I hope to be face to face very soon.

Stay in touch,

Rick


	20. Chapter 20

Stay in Touch

Chapter 20

It doesn't surprise Kate that Rick picks her up in a luxury sedan. She knows he can afford one, possibly a fleet of them, and the size and ratings fit with his concern for safely transporting his daughter. Rick had let her know that he'd taken Alexis to camp the day before, and he and Kate would have the beach house to themselves. As he loads her bags into the trunk, her eyebrows flick upwards. "You didn't bring much luggage for yourself."

He shrugs. "I keep things at the house. It was easier that way when Alexis was little, and I had to cart all her baby stuff. There wasn't room for much else. As she got older, I just kept up the habit. And sometimes there's comfort in the old and familiar."

"I know what you mean. I have a Briny Peacocks sweatshirt that my mother bought for me when I was sixteen and obsessed with the group. It's all stretched out and keeps falling off one shoulder, but I still wear it."

Rick quirks a smile, as they climb into the car and he starts the engine. "I have a T-shirt that Alexis has tried to sneak into the trash three times because it's full of stains from when she spit up on me as an infant. To me, those spots are a badge of honor. But I promise I won't wear it to dinner. I'm not that gross. Not usually, anyway. I do have a fondness for creepy Halloween costumes, the bloodier, the better."

"I've always like Halloween too. It's a time when I can be whoever I want to be, warrior, astronaut, mermaid, or all three."

Rick grins. "That's a combination I would love to see. What do you do, smack the evil aliens with your tail?"

"Something like that. Maybe I can demonstrate in your pool."

"That's definitely something I'd like to see. The traffic shouldn't be too heavy, according to the last report I heard. With any luck, we can be poolside in a couple of hours. Any preferences for music on the drive? You can choose a radio station, or there are a bunch of CDs in the storage compartment in the console. Feel free to peruse them."

Kate flips through a stack of plastic cases. "Ooh, Coltrane! A man after my own heart."

"I hope so," Castle mutters under his breath as she inserts the disc and leans back against the soft leather of her seat to bask in the cool jazz.

* * *

"We're here," Rick announces, pulling up in front of what appears to Kate to be more of a mansion than a beach house. The one that her parents rented could fit in a corner of Rick's place and hardly be noticed. She can't help feeling a little intimidated as Rick walks around the car to open her door.

"This really is magnificent."

"It's okay. You should see Shapiro's place half a mile down the road. You could put up a whole band in it. I think that he actually did once when he was defending a rock star who got out of hand and smashed up the stage at the Rocky Shores Theater. For me, the extra room comes in handy when Alexis has her girlfriends out here. And mother has brought a beau or two to this abode as well." Carrying the part of Kate's luggage she didn't immediately grab herself, he leads the way into the house and up a flight of stairs. "I have four guest rooms. You can pick whichever one appeals to you. The housekeeper keeps them all made up, and each pair shares a bathroom, which would, of course, be all yours for the duration. The one between the pink bedroom and the violet bedroom has a massaging shower if you're fond of that sort of thing."

Kate peeks into the violet room. She hadn't known what to expect. Except for the wallpaper which features tiny bunches of delicate purple flowers, the furnishings are more practical than fussy, with a rag rug that looks washable, over a hardwood floor, and a sturdy queen-sized bed and matching dresser that can more than accommodate her things with space left over. "This one will be great."

"Glad you approve. I'll leave you to get settled and see what I can rustle up for lunch. Greta always likes to leave a surprise or two when she stocks the fridge and the pantry. Some of them are more of an adventure than others."

Rick tentatively sticks his head into the 20 cubic foot side by side refrigerator freezer. Things look pretty normal. There are the usual staples and an array of soft drinks, including a pitcher of lemonade. He checks a paper-wrapped package. Lox! Damn, he doesn't even know if Kate likes smoked salmon - or any kind of fish for that matter. He can ask, and if she does, they can have it for breakfast in the morning, to go with the bagels and cream cheese Greta has thoughtfully provided. But that doesn't help with lunch.

He checks the freezer and spots his favorite ribeyes. Perfect! He knows that Kate has a taste for red meat. She was about to prepare steaks when the two of them had to rush off to get a tape player. But he doesn't know how she likes them. He heads for the stairs to find out.

The door to the violet bedroom is closed, and he raps on it softly. Responding to Kate's call to come in, he pushes it open. Kate has changed into a long flowy cover-up. Seeing something that feminine on the uber-serious cop is surprising and intriguing. More than intriguing. Sexy as hell. Nothing shows, but everything is suggested. He swallows before he can get a word out. "I was just wondering how you like your meat - your steak - rare, medium, or well done?"

Kate turns to him, the curve of her breasts outlined by the thin fabric. "Still mooing if you can manage it. I like something I can get my teeth into."

Rick's mouth goes dry. "I wouldn't doubt it for a second. Ready to bite back, it will be."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Rick can think of any number of things, none of which he is about to voice. He decides to go for something less arousing. "You could work on the salad."

Kate follows him back to the kitchen and begins washing and drying leaves from the head of Romaine lettuce he hands her from the refrigerator. As he puts the steaks on the grill at the back of the stove, he watches Kate tear the greens into pieces before she searches out tomatoes and a serrated knife.

"You've done that before."

"My mother was a great cook, but she didn't have time to do much in the kitchen except for Sunday morning brunches. My Nonna made sure I learned the basics. Oh, I never answered your question about Italian. I do speak it, conversationally, or at least I did when I was younger. Nonna took me back to our family in Italy one summer. None of my cousins spoke more English than they could pick up from American movies, so I learned pretty fast. Then Nonna helped me fill in the gaps. I try to use the language in Italian restaurants and watch Italian movies without the subtitles to keep it up as well as I can."

Rick flips the steaks. "Another layer to the Kate Beckett story. I look forward to getting to know many more."


	21. Chapter 21

Stay in Touch

Chapter 21

Kate presses her legs together, turns out her feet in a perfect first position and launches a plume of water at Rick. Laughing he uses his hands to sluice the moisture from his face and wraps a towel around his body. "I get it. You're a mermaid, but last I checked I'm not an evil alien- unless there's something Mother has been keeping from me. Ooh, maybe my father was from another planet, like Starman, and couldn't come back to her."

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Kate squints up at him. "Wrong show business family. You look more like Justin Bateman than Jeff Bridges."

"At least you didn't say, Justine Bateman. But you have a point. If Dad was an alien, I should have come into my powers by now."

Kate rises from the pool, her hair dripping and her tightly-fitting flesh-colored one-piece suit leaving only the most enticing parts of her to Rick's imagination. "You seem to be doing all right with your earthly ones."

Rick is trying hard to concentrate on Kate's words rather than the nymph-like vision in front of him, making him very grateful for the cover of his towel. "What earthly powers?"

"Deduction, for one. You figured out things I never even thought about and helped build the cases against Bracken and Coonan."

"Right back at you. You took whatever I came up with and added your unique insight. We built that case together; yin and yang; peanut butter and jelly; Beauty and the Beast; two disparate halves making the perfect whole."

Kate dries off and retrieves her coverup, which over her damp suit conceals almost nothing. "As long as we're straight on who's Beauty and who's The Beast."

Rick rakes his fingers through his thick hair. "I don't see how there could be any doubt about that. You're the one who tears into raw meat and beats up the bad guys." Kate punches him in his solid bicep. "Ow! You made my point exactly. But somehow Belle and Beast were beautiful together."

"Yes, they were," Kate agrees, her eyes meeting his. Her hand is reaching for his cheek as the crack of lightning forking to the ground breaks the spell.

Thunder rumbles almost immediately. Rick's fingers curl into a fist. "Damn! That sounds close! There aren't supposed to be any storms this week."

Kate can feel drops beginning to pelt her skin. "It looks like the clouds didn't read the forecast."

"We should get inside," Rick advises, extending his hand to her as the downpour intensifies. They dash through the sliding door leading to the house, together.

* * *

In the light of the flames, Rick adds another log to the fireplace. "The generator will run the appliances in the kitchen, the pumps, and the water heater, but we won't have power for anything else until the electric company fixes whatever went down. I have flashlights and candles. The cell towers may be out, they usually are in weather like this, but I have a satellite phone in the car if we need one. We should be fine."

Kate stares into the blaze, pulling a throw from the back of the couch and laying it across her lap. "With the storm outside and the fire in here, it's like we're in our own little world."

Rick settles onto the couch next to her. "It is at that. And would it be an even better world with the addition of an excellent vintage? I have a 1999 Châteauneuf-du-Pape. I was saving it for a special occasion, but I think this more than qualifies.

Kate snuggles into the cushions. "Sounds amazing."

Rick springs to his feet. "I'll be right back." He returns with two crystal wine goblets, a bottle, and a platter with cheese, strawberries, and chocolate truffles. Using a corkscrew, he opens the wine and fills the glasses. "Everything for a cozy afternoon."

"Your housekeeper is very thoughtful."

"She is, but the strawberries and truffles were my notions. We novelists pay attention, and in the case of Kate Beckett, there is much worthy of study."

The tips of her fingers skim the slowly roughening skin along his jawline. "You're not so bad yourself Richard Castle."

He wraps her slender digits in his own. "Kate, when I first met you, I could see the woman you would be, trying to push her way past the grieving exterior of a traumatized teen. But that woman has emerged now, beautiful, wise, and remarkable. There is so much we know about each other through our letters, but there is so much yet to discover." He caresses her hand with his thumb. "I've never pushed a woman in my life. The choice of where we go from here is all yours. Say the word, and we can spend the rest of the day playing Scrabble."

Kate cups the back of his neck with her other hand. "Rick, board games are the last thing on my mind."

Their lips meet tentatively, but the touch is electric as if fed by the lightning filling the skies above them. Rick pulls Kate to him, his hardness against the heat of her softness. Her breasts flatten against his chest as they struggle for more intense contact. He pulls back, panting. "Kate do you want to go upstairs?"

She can only nod mutely and wrap her arms around his neck as he lifts her. Kate is slim but tall and athletically muscled, yet Rick barely feels her weight as he navigates the staircase.

Wary of the implication, Rick never showed Kate his bedroom. With the thunderheads blocking the light from the sun, she can barely see it now, but there is enough light for Rick to find his bed and gently lay Kate on it.

She doesn't occupy much of the extended king he enjoys sprawling on in summer heat. Despite her height, she almost looks like a little girl, hair still damp from her swim splayed around her face. But the fire in her eyes and the thrust of her hips is anything but girlish. Still, there's the imperative question. "Kate, do you, are you, I mean do I need to protect you?"

She shakes her head. "The doctor put me on the pill when I was sixteen — irregular periods. Rick, I'm safe. Please!"

He doesn't need to hear any more. He couldn't if he tried. His breath comes hard, and his ears are buzzing, as he tears at his clothes then gently strips away the last barriers between them.

His mouth tastes the tender flesh of her neck before his lips bring the eager pink tips of her ivory globes to straining attention. He moves lower, his tongue circling her navel. She arches against his seeking mouth as it discovers the firm mound that sends its own lightning sizzling through her.

She reaches for him, her fingers encircling his growing demand. He gasps as she strokes him. "Kate!"

They meet like colliding stars, heat and desire creating an aura of vital energy that surrounds them both, urging them to scale the heights to the raging heavens together. There is no thunder, no wind, no rain driven against the windows of their refuge, only the two of them, unable to hear, see, or feel anything but each other until the force of long pent-up desire is released, and they collapse in each other's arms.


	22. Chapter 22

Stay in Touch

Chapter 22

Rick can feel the warmth of Kate's bare skin against his side as he opens his eyes. He hadn't planned on this - dreamed of it perhaps - but not planned on it. When he'd invited Kate to the Hamptons, he'd thought of it as a chance to get to know each other face to face, but not this intimately. Being with Kate was the most mind shattering thing that he'd experienced since - wow, he can't remember when except for Alexis' birth. Holding his newborn daughter in his arms had been as if a piece had been added to his soul. Making love with Kate was more like completing it. He knows his life has been changed forever. He just hopes she knows it too.

Kate stirs beside him. With her eyes still closed but her lips turned upward in satisfaction, she snuggles against him. As the vestiges of sleep fade, she stretches, her arms extending above her head.

Rolling on his side, Rick feels a strand of hair that's found its way across her mouth and pushes it aside. "Good morning, I think. Actually, I have no idea what time it is, except that it's still dark outside, but it sounds like it's stopped raining." Pulling himself up on his elbows, Rick gropes for a control on the shelf behind the bed. As he finds the button, the room lights up. "I guess the power is back on." He reaches for the pants he threw to the floor and pulls his cell phone out of a pocket. "Five A.M., I suppose that qualifies as morning. The sun should be up soon, but we can still try to go back to sleep if you'd like. Or I can make coffee. You can have your choice of blends. I have at least three of them."

Kate sweeps her fingers down his arm. "Rick, I don't want to go back to sleep, and I don't need any coffee."

He stares at her face, radiant, now that he can see it clearly. "What do you need, Kate?"

"You, just you."

He cradles her cheek in his palm. "Your wish is my command. I'd turn the lights off again, but this time I want to be able to see you, all of you."

Kate kicks the sheet to the foot of the bed, revealing her still bare flesh. "Like this?'

Rick traces her curves with his palms. "Exactly like that. "Ooh, you have a tattoo on your hip! _Vincit Omnia Veritas_. My Latin is a little rusty, but doesn't that mean the truth conquers all things?"

Kate presses her lips together. "It does. My mother believed that passionately. My father had it engraved on her headstone. I'd like to believe it too."

"And what is your truth, Kate?"

She grasps his head, bringing his lips to hers. "This."

* * *

Midmorning light streams through the windows of the kitchen as Rick pours two mugs of coffee, then turns to set out a platter of lox. Kate grabs a tub of soft cream cheese from the refrigerator and pops two bagels into the toaster oven.

Rick grins at her. "I'm relieved that you appreciate lox. Salmon breath for one, is not the height of romance."

"Are you kidding? I'm a New York girl. Mom may have made brunch on Sunday mornings, but on Saturdays, she went to her office, and I'd get up and walk ten blocks to a deli. Goldy's had the best lox, and sometimes even smoked whitefish or sable. They sold cream cheese too. On the way back, I'd hit the bakery for bagels and Dad and I would have breakfast together. We'd pass the sections of The Ledger back and forth, and if there'd been a game, go over the stats together."

Rick inhales the fragrance of his light roast single source Columbian coffee. "Sounds wonderful."

"It was. But after Mom died, Dad didn't … he wasn't in the mood for much breakfast anymore. But he's doing better now. Maybe I'll bring him some bagels when I get back."

Rick nods. "Sounds like a good idea. So, you had bagels and went to baseball games with your father, cooked with your Nonna, went skating with your mom, and indulged in imaginary play with your friend Maddie. What else shaped the young Kate Beckett?"

Kate's eyebrows rise. "You remember about Maddie?"

Castle shrugs. "I told you. I'm a novelist. Details like that are important in bringing characters to life. And they're even more vital to understanding real people."

Kate retrieves two well-toasted bagels and puts one on a plate in front of Rick. "And what details are vital to understanding you? You said you decided to write spy stories because some stranger at the library gave you a copy of Casino Royale. There must have been more to your becoming a writer than that; something you were working through with a pen in your hand."

"Other than being the son of Martha Rodgers?"

"You're ducking the question."

"You ducked the one I asked you first."

Kate sighs and takes a sip of her rich brew. "You know what it takes to get into Stuyvesant, right?"

Rick nods. "You have to pass one hell of a test, verbal and math."

Kate puts down her cup. "Mm. Right. And I really wanted to go there because my parents did. When my dad got in, they weren't accepting girls. He told me they made some BS claim about not having girls' bathrooms."

"Obviously they worked that out."

"Yeah, they did, a couple of years later - after a girl who wanted in sued them. But going there was nothing like being in elementary school or middle school where I was one of the smartest kids in the class and didn't have to push myself very hard to get top grades. Everyone at Stuy had been one of the smartest kids or the smartest kid. I had to work my ass off. And at the same time, I was trying to earn money to buy my Harley. Other than being hooked on Saved by the Bell and Nebula Nine reruns, I didn't take a whole lot of time to mess around. Even without counting my addiction to Comicadia, I was a nerd."

Rick raises one eyebrow. "Somehow, I don't picture you with a pocket protector and taped up glasses."

Kate traces an invisible pattern on the surface of the table. "My vision is 20/20, and I kept my pens in my backpack, but I had to hit the books pretty hard. That's the only thing that got me into Stanford. And when I got there, I was still hanging out with nerds; the Nebula Nine fan club. I even wore an Ensign Chloe uniform."

"Which has morphed from space explorer to officer of the law. But with your legs, I imagine that Chloe's miniskirt was quite flattering."

Kate winks. "I did look good."

Rick reaches for her hand. "But looking cool wasn't what it was about, was it? You were searching for a place to fit in, and Chloe was the mask you assumed to find your spot."

Kate avoids his eyes, picking up her coffee mug again.

Rick sticks two fingers beneath her chin, locking her gaze to his. "You don't need any masks with me, Kate. You never will."


	23. Chapter 23

Stay in Touch

Chapter 23

Kate continues to meet Rick's gaze. "Your turn."

Looking down at the table, Rick pushes the plate with his uneaten bagel away.

Kate reaches out to take his hand. "What happened?" Rick continues to turn his eyes downward, staring at nothing. "Was it that bad?"

Rick shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't know if it really happened or the whole thing was just some horrible nightmare of a boy who wandered off where he shouldn't have."

"You're ice cold. I don't think you'd still react that way to a decades-old nightmare. What do you remember?"

Rick scrubs his palm over his face. "It was a school holiday, spring break. Mother was on the road in a revival of Oklahoma, so I was staying with some of her old friends in New Hampshire. They had a cabin on the edge of the forest, a place called Hollander's Woods. No one could talk about anything except for an upcoming Easter celebration. With Mother away, the festivities didn't mean much to me, so I decided to take a walk. It was against house rules to go into the woods alone, but I did it anyway, perhaps because it was forbidden. Everyone was having such a great family time, and I felt left out.

"None of the paths were marked. A cold front came in, and it clouded over so I couldn't even get a direction from the sun. I was lost and freezing and scared when I heard someone. I thought that maybe whoever it was could point me in the right direction to get back to the cabin, but I discovered that the voice came out of something appearing as if it had risen straight from hell. Later I figured out it was a man wearing a mask, but then, he looked to me like an evil demon with a white face crossed with black lines. He was standing over a woman who was lying on the ground. Her eyes were closed, and there were cuts in her face, but she wasn't bleeding. Years later, when I learned something about forensics, I realized that must have been because her heart wasn't pumping her blood. I tried to get away, but the killer grabbed me and warned me that if I ever told anyone what I saw, he'd come after me and kill me.

"I ran as fast as I could and found a highway. There were still payphones then, and I saw one of those too and called the police, anonymously. I followed the road back to the cabin. They were so used to me holing up in my room with my notebook and comic books that they hardly noticed that I was gone, except that I'd missed lunch. I told them that I wasn't feeling well and had thought that getting some air might help. I must have looked wretched enough to be convincing, and I couldn't eat dinner either, or much of anything else for days.

"I kept watching the papers for a story about the dead woman. When I gained the know-how, I even checked the police reports. But she was never found, and eventually, I began to wonder if I'd imagined the whole thing."

Kate squeezes his hand. "I can't envision a little boy dreaming up something like that, even one with as active an imagination as you must have had."

Rick shrugs. "I don't know, but ever since, I've been trying to figure out how monsters like that do what they do. I've studied serial killers as background for my books and delved into texts on psychosis, and I'm still bewildered by the evil men and women do. Maybe you have to have the kind of distorted mind of a Bracken or Coonan to understand it."

"Maybe you do, Kate agrees, "but we can still fight it."

Color begins to return to Rick's face. "We did fight it. Together."

"And you know what else we can do together?" Kate queries.

The ghost of a smile appears on his lips. "I can think of so many things."

Kate points to the glass doors leading outside. "It is the kind of beautiful day that comes after a storm passes. How about a walk on the beach? We can see who can grab the most shells. I was a champ at that on Coney Island."

"And I've been competing with Alexis for years. You're on!"

* * *

The sand is almost covered with deliveries by waves propelled by the storm. Rick can see more shells than he's spotted in a long time, surrounded by seaweed, driftwood, and trash. Kate picks up straws, the insert from a bottle cap, and a string of kelp and rapidly fashions a stick figure.

"Who's that supposed to be?" Castle asks.

"Just a reminder, that whatever garbage we run into, we can try to make something out of it."

Rick presses his lips to hers. "A worthy sentiment."

Kate leans down and grabs a handful of shells, letting sand fly at Rick's ankles. "I'm glad you think so because I'm going to win!"

His larger hand scoops up an even bigger bounty. "We'll see about that."

Kate is not about to be beaten. Rick can pick up more shells at a time but she can move faster, and her slim fingers uncover half-buried treasures more easily. At the final count, despite his insistence that the two sand dollars he found should count for more as marine currency, she exceeds his total by ten, and he declares her the beachcombing champion. They're both sweaty from the rays of the midday sun and the exertion of the hunt. The rising water is beginning to lap at their feet, its coolness an invitation to venture further into its depths.

With their piles of shells on the beach and bodies gritty with sand, Rick and Kate run into the waves hand in hand. Compared to Rick's pool, the temperature as they immerse themselves is a shock, but they share each other's warmth. With the buoyancy lent by the deepening water, Rick easily lifts Kate, and she clamps her legs around his waist.

On the deserted stretch below Rick's beach house, there are no other bathers or shell hunters. Rick's not sure he'd care if there were. Despite the Atlantic's chill, he's becoming hotter - and harder - by the second. From the way Kate is rubbing against him, he can tell that she's in a similar state of need. He pulls the ties of the halter top of her swimsuit loose, setting her breasts free, but damn, there is still too much in the way.

She unwraps herself, sliding down his body and pushing her suit down her legs, before shoving his trunks down as well. Her chin is barely above water, and Rick hoists her again. Slickened by the sea, they come together. He can feel her tightening around him, heightening the effect of his thrusts as their mouths join, tongues searching for embrace.

They move in time with the waves, a rhythm reaching back to humanity's ancient origins in the sea. The tide is coming in, as a tsunami builds within them, cresting, then leaving them weak in its wake. Still clinging to each other, they let the waves carry them back to shore.


	24. Chapter 24

Stay in Touch

Chapter 24

Kate leans back in her seat and closes her eyes as Rick aims his car down the road that will take them back to New York. He glances sideways at her. "Going to catch a nap? We didn't sleep much last night. Not that I would have had it any other way."

Kate grins without lifting her eyelids. "Neither would I, but if I don't see where we're going, I don't have to believe that our time alone together is ending. It's like I was having the best dream of my life and the sanitation truck outside my window is waking me up."

Rick reaches over the console and touches her hand. "Nothing has to be over Kate. We live in practically the same neighborhood. There's no reason we can't spend time together. We just have to figure out how."

Sighing Kate turns to him as best she can, restricted by her seat belt. "Rick, Mike and I work 12-hour shifts and most weekends. Until my transfer comes through, I'll be assigned at least half an hour away from SoHo, more if there's traffic. You'll have to take care of your daughter when she gets back from camp and work on your books. It won't be the same."

"No it won't, but if we want to find a way to be with each other, we can do it. Do you want to, Kate, or was this just an interlude?"

Her hazel eyes flash green. "Of course I want to! What happened at the house, on the beach, was no interlude. It was magic."

"Then luckily we still have some fairy dust in our pockets, even if it's disguised as sand. And Alexis will be ensconced in musical nirvana for another six weeks. First step, we compare schedules and see where we both have openings. Ooh, that sounded dirtier than I thought."

Kate leans back again, the soft leather comforting against the bare skin above the tube top hugging her torso. "It sounded good to me."

* * *

Mike puts down his burrito to turn the page of the Police Gazette. "This is a strange one. A truck driver stopped to help a woman who ran into the road and waved him down, claiming she'd been attacked and a crazy man was still after her. He claims a guy wearing a mask came out of nowhere, stabbed him and took off. He managed to call 911 before he passed out and when he woke up, the paramedics were there but no woman. There's a sketch he drew of the mask." Mike holds it up for Kate to see. "Weird, huh?"

Kate stares at the rendering. "Demonic, crossed with black lines. Oh, God!"

"What's going on, Kate?" Mike asks. "Have you seen something like that before?"

"No, but I may know someone who has. It makes no sense. It would have been 30 years ago, but…" She snaps a picture of the image and emails it to Rick.

* * *

Rick can't take his eyes from the nightmare on the screen of his computer. It can't be! Finally, he forces himself from his chair and slides open a compartment below the bookcases in his office to retrieve a stack of aging composition books. The one he's not sure he wants to open is at the bottom of the pile.

He takes a shaky breath before looking at the first page. The image is almost identical to what's in the photo that Kate sent. His drawing is more childish, but the lines are the same, as is the aura of pure evil. The killer who has haunted his nights for most of his life is real, and he's out there again.

Rick responds to Kate with only two words: "It's him."

* * *

Kate hesitantly knocks on the door of Rick's loft. He didn't invite her. After his terse reply to her email, she didn't hear anything from him. Since returning from the Hamptons, they hadn't been out of communication for more than a few hours, and now it's been two days.

Rick pushes wearily away from his desk. He's been going through newspaper accounts from both New Hampshire and rural New York where the truck driver saw the man in the mask, ever since the horrendous day so long ago in Hollander's Woods. So far, he's found nothing except for one suspicious disappearance. A woman's best friend reported her missing, but the investigation was dropped for lack of evidence that a crime had been committed. His legs are stiff, and he rubs the small of his back as he makes his way to the door.

Kate stares at Rick across the threshold. He's unshaven. His hair is limp and falling over his forehead. It looks like he hasn't changed his clothes in a couple of days, or bothered to sleep either. She reaches up to cup the roughness of his cheek. "You look like hell."

He steps aside to let her in. "Probably because that's where I've been living, knowing what I let happen. I should have done something more back then to make the police go after him. Kate, he's been out there all this time, hiding in the shadows. Who knows how many times he may have killed?"

Kate frames his face in her hands. "Rick, you were just a kid. You were traumatized and scared to death, but you told the New Hampshire police what you'd seen anyway. You can't blame yourself. If anyone dropped the ball, they did."

"Then I need to pick it up. I have a lead Kate, but it's a tenuous one."

Kate wraps her arms around him and presses her cheek against his chest. "Babe, you didn't let me go through nailing Bracken and Coonan alone; I'm not going to let you try to handle this by yourself. We can follow your lead, and I can help you dig up others. But you can't kill yourself this way. When's the last time you ate?"

"I don't know."

She pulls back. "You're going to eat something now, as soon as I see what I can find in your kitchen."

Rick pulls up the neckline of his T-shirt and sniffs beneath it. "If I'm going to be fit for company, I should grab a shower."

Kate nods. "I'll have a plate ready for you when you're done."

Rick steps beneath the steamy spray, letting it massage the kinks from his muscles, before grabbing the green-striped soap. It isn't as magically invigorating as the commercials for it claim, but he'll definitely smell better. That's the least he can do if Kate's going to fuss over him. In the time they'd spent together in the Hampton's that was one aspect of her he'd never seen. Playful, sexy, stubborn, brilliant, competitive, and compassionate, but not that. Other than occasionally from Alexis, it's something he's rarely experienced, and he's not sure how to handle it.

After quickly washing his hair, he leans against the wall of the shower enclosure, letting the water sluice over him. Until that moment, he hadn't felt the full brunt of his exhaustion, but he's not about to give into it now. He'll try to eat whatever Kate puts in front of him, but he has work to do. They have work to do. That sounds better. Much better.

A/N I have a new The Rookie one-shot out called God's Will.


	25. Chapter 25

Stay in Touch

Chapter 25

Kate chews on the end of her finger. "Rick, it looks like we have two leads, but they converge. The article you dug up about the woman reporting her friend missing, gives her disappearance as happening in roughly the same area the truck driver saw the masked killer. There were also woods nearby, like the terrain where you saw him as a kid. He could have switched states but staked out similar hunting grounds. I think the first thing we need to do is go up there, talk to the truck driver and if we can locate her, the woman in the story you found."

"There can't be too many people named Mia Culpepper. She should be traceable in public records, the kind you can access online for the low, low, bargain price of $39.95."

Kate can't help smiling at the first Castle quip she's heard him make since she arrived. "You're feeling better. And as a cop, I can check if the DMV has anything on her. After tomorrow, I'll be off duty for a couple of days. We should both have our information by then, and we can go upstate together. But I need you to promise that in the meantime you'll take care of yourself. You have to eat, and you have to sleep.

Rick raises his right hand. "Writer's honor."

* * *

The truck driver, Harry Lowell, lives on a small farm. It barely qualifies as one. He keeps a few chickens and raises goats whose milk he can sell at a premium, but transporting produce to the upscale restaurants in the city from the organic growers surrounding his few acres pays the bills. He was able to get someone to come in to take care of his livestock while he was laid up in the hospital, so he still has products to sell, but he lost a lot of income while he wasn't driving. He can't really spare the time to talk to a city cop and a writer, but at least someone is still looking for the madman who stabbed him, so he'll do it anyway.

Kate Beckett doesn't look like any cop he's ever seen, more like someone on one of those reality shows about models. He caught Richard Castle on Letterman once, so he recognizes him, but he's taller than he looked on television. Harry has no idea what a mystery writer would be doing with a young, gorgeous, police officer, but the two have a vibe between them that's hard to miss.

He invites them to take seats on the screened porch at the front of his house. Beckett may be beautiful, but she's all business, as she begins to quiz him about his encounter with the masked maniac, particularly about the woman who had flagged him down. Harry closes his eyes trying to picture her. "I don't remember her as being tall, maybe five foot five, at most. Her hair was brown, but I wasn't close enough to see the color of her eyes."

Rick leans forward in his well-worn rattan chair. "Did she have any marks on her face?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, but there was a long scratch on her neck like that crazy might have held his knife to it."

"Do you remember anything about the man who attacked you, besides the mask?" Kate queries. "Hair or skin color?"

Harry rubs his jaw. "It all happened so fast. He was white, I remember that, but his skin was shades darker than that mask."

"The mask was pale, like porcelain?" Rick interjects.

Harry nods.

"What about his voice?" Rick presses. "Did you hear him say anything?"

"When he stabbed me, he told me to go to hell. He sounded raspy."

"Like someone with a sore throat, or a chain smoker?" Kate offers.

Harry's eyes widen. "Oh!"

Rick springs out of his chair. "You recalled something else!"

"Yes," Harry confirms, "when officer Beckett mentioned chain smoking. He smelled of tobacco but not cigarettes, cigars. I had an uncle who smelled just like that. He smoked the little ones, cigarillos. I don't remember the brand, but the package had lightning bolts on it. Could that help?"

Kate chews her bottom lip. "It might help a lot. Thank you, Mr. Lowell."

"Will you let me know if you find out anything else?" Lowell asks as Kate and Rick are leaving.

"Count on it," Rick promises.

"That was more than I'd hoped for," Kate confides as Rick starts the car. "Not many people smoke cigarillos - or anything - anymore. Your demon would have to buy them somewhere, and there can't be too many stores around here that would have them. Maybe Mia can add even more pieces to the puzzle."

Rick grips the steering wheel tightly as he pulls out of the drive leading to Harry Lowell's home. "I hope so."

* * *

Mia Culpepper's face is lined beyond her years. She ushers Kate and Rick into the small living room of a cottage, adjacent to the church school where she teaches. "You are the first people in years who've asked about Kirsten. The police had a working theory that she ran off somewhere with a guy - except Kirsten didn't like guys. And she wasn't irresponsible enough to just take off. She studied botany and had a job taking care of gardens around here. She wouldn't leave anyone in the lurch. At the very least, she would have lined up someone to take her place. And she never would have left without saying goodbye to me."

"Tell us about the time leading up to her disappearance," Kate urges.

"I already went through a lot of that with the police before. She didn't have any family to visit. Her parents were killed in a car accident when she was 16. All her other relatives live in Europe, and she wasn't in touch with them. She wasn't worried about anything. She wasn't having any money problems. She did tell me she wanted to have her pickup looked at because it stalled out on her a couple of times. The battery kept losing charge."

"So she might have gotten stuck on a road somewhere?" Rick speculates.

"It's possible. But she had a regular route that she followed for her work. The police checked it out after she disappeared and there was no sign of her truck."

"What's along that route?" Kate inquires.

"Houses and farms. None of them are very close to each other. Most people live out here because they like to have some land."

"Do you have a picture of Kirsten?" Rick asks.

Mia walks over to a bookcase a pulls out a slim volume. This is our college yearbook. There's a picture of her in here. There's a Xerox® machine at the school. I can go over there and make you copies."

"We'd appreciate it," Kate replies.

"I'll only be a couple of minutes, Mia promises.

Rick turns to Kate while Mia is gone. "Farms have barns and outbuildings. Houses with lots of land around them have sheds to store maintenance equipment like lawn tractors and snowblowers. You've seen the one I have in The Hamptons. If Kirsten's pickup stalled again, her kidnapper could have given it a jump to give it enough juice to get it undercover in anything like that on her route.

Kate picks up his train of thought. "But the police wouldn't have had enough probable cause to get warrants to search for it. That means that whoever took Kirsten must have lived near her clients or at least had access to property there. That's still not a direct tie to Harry Lowell's attacker, but it gets us closer."

The screen door slams and Mia returns and hands them each a copy of a picture. Rick traces his finger over the lines of the image. "Kate, Kirsten could be a doppelganger of the woman I saw in Hollander's Woods. Our quarry profiles his prey."


	26. Chapter 26

Stay in Touch

Chapter 26

"That's true, Babe," Kate agrees, "but unless we could go through every missing persons report and cold case from the time since you were in Hollander's Woods and now, and compare pictures, knowing that isn't going to buy us much right now. We'd be better off checking the property records to see who owns a place along Kirsten's gardening route and find out if any of them were in New Hampshire 30 years ago. And we'll have to figure out who around here sells cigarillos. That's still going to be a hell of a lot of work."

Rick sets his jaw. "Now that I know I didn't imagine what happened then and that the killer is still out there, I'm more anxious than ever to do it."

"I'll help you as much as I can, Kate promises."

Rick presses a kiss into her palm. "Thank you. What would I have done if you had never shown up at my book signing?"

"Probably lived happily raising your daughter, and oblivious to Bracken, Coonan, or any of this."

"But I would never have known the truth about Hollander's Woods. It would have haunted me forever. Harry Lowell's story would have been buried by a town without the resources, or the will to pursue it and God knows how many more women would disappear from the earth without anyone looking for the masked demon who took them. We needed to meet, Kate. And we need to be together."

"Then how about being together at lunch," Kate proposes. "You're still looking a little ragged around the edges. I noticed one of those old fashioned diners not far from here when we were on the road. We could get burgers or something."

"And you're hoping they'll have strawberry shakes," Rick teases.

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me," Kate retorts, "but if they make them, I want a large."

* * *

Rick dips a crisp French fry in ketchup and hears the crunch of a pickle spear as Kate bites into it. "It's a mystery to me how you stay so slim. Most of the women I've known who were trying to keep their weight down would never go near a triple burger like the one you just consumed with gusto, let alone that shake. I was watching. The waitress put real ice cream in there - three scoops."

"Even though I'm not a Rookie anymore, I'll always be one to Mike. He makes me do all the running. Between that and the thirty pounds of gear I have to wear, I burn calories pretty fast. My workout takes more than a few too. I just put up a chinning bar in my apartment and bought some free weights to go along with the ones I use at the gym at the precinct. I also attack the heavy bag."

"Remind me never to get you mad at me - unless you want to duel with swords. That's probably the only way I could take you."

Kate reaches across the table to swipe a tiny red drop from the corner of Ricks' mouth. "Or laser tag. The couple of times I've played, I've never been much good at it. Alexis could probably beat me. But Rick, what difference does it make? Peanut butter and jelly, remember?"

He swipes a fleck of thick shake from her lower lip. "Or ketchup and shakes. No, somehow that doesn't sound as good. So fine. Now that we've gorged ourselves we still have time before we need to head back to the city. What's our next step?"

"From the way the waitress knew the orders of almost everyone who came in here before they gave them, she has to be a native of the area or at least lived here a long time. With any luck, she can tell us where they carry cigarillos. You should ask her. She winked at you and gave you a bigger order of fries than she gave me."

Rick rolls his eyes and singsongs, "Jealous!"

When their server returns to the table with the check, Rick flashes her a brilliant smile and notes the name embroidered on her uniform. "Magnificent meal, Mary. You wouldn't know, by any chance, where I could get a cigarillo to top it off?"

Mary pats her bleached locks. "Only place they sell those is at the Shell station right near the highway. You can't miss it; it's the last thing you see before the entrance ramp. But it would be a shame if you're leaving town."

Rick winks at her. "I'm sure I'll be back."

* * *

Rick regards the selection of cigarillos available in the convenience store a few steps away from rows of gas pumps. He touches Kate's arm. "Zeus' Favor. Look, lightning bolts."

The man behind the register looks up as Rick puts two root beers and a bag of M&M's on the counter. "You want those Zeus'; you better get them now. Only one other customer ever buys them, so we don't stock many. That's the last pack."

"I'll take it," Castle responds pulling out his wallet. "I'm surprised you have them at all. I usually have to get a tobacco dealer in the city to order them for me. I'm curious. What's my comrade in smokes like?"

"He's a doctor." The clerk points to his temple. "You know, this kind. Has a clinic in the next town, but his folks live around here, so he's in a lot."

Rick puts an arm around Kate. "A doctor. See, Honey, I'm in good company. I told you I have good taste."

Kate shakes her head. "Yeah right. But you better not stink up the car with those. My parents are coming, and we don't have time to get it detailed again. And don't stink up the house either."

Rick hands her the M&Ms. "Here. Eat these before you get any crankier." He catches the clerk's eye, and mouths, "Women."

Rick can barely wait until he and Kate are out of the clerk's sight before pulling her in for a long kiss. "A doctor in a psychiatric clinic who visits his parents here. We have him, Kate!"

Kate smooths back a lock of hair that flopped in Rick's eyes in the excitement. "We don't have him yet, Babe. We need to run background on that clinic and the doctor who runs it. He could be the wrong man. He could be African-American or Hispanic or may never have been to New Hampshire. Right now, we just don't know. We can investigate everything, but not from here." She looks at her watch. "And if we don't start back soon, we could be sitting in traffic for hours. And I should drive, at least until you calm down. We can switch off later if you want."

"OK," Rick agrees. "It's just that we're so close, Kate. I can feel it. And we need to get this guy. I can't let him kill again."

Kate wraps her arms around him. "You never let him kill anyone. He's the only one responsible for killing or kidnapping those women. You were just another one of his victims. But we will take him down, Rick. Whatever it takes, you'll have closure, and those women will get justice. I promise.


	27. Chapter 27

Stay in Touch

Chapter 27

At six a.m., Rick quickly scans through the list of psychiatric clinics, that he found on Yahoo. His breath catches in his throat as the establishment of one Dr. Van Holtzman jumps off the page. It's in Sagetown, two thruway exits from the Zeus selling Shell station. He checks for a bio of Holtzman. Other than his being distinctly Caucasian, Holtzman's picture doesn't ring a bell. But then it wouldn't. Rick never saw the demon's face. Holtzman attended medical school in Maryland. No help there, but he graduated from Dartmouth College - in Hanover New Hampshire, only a few miles from Hollander's Woods. Quick arithmetic tells Rick that they were in New Hampshire at the same time.

Holtzman's residence is also listed as Sagetown, but Rick quickly hunts for other homes bearing the Holtzman name. The best he can do is a White Pages listing for George and Mara Holtzman in Curryville, New York. He brings up a map. Curryville just borders the route Kirsten would have taken in her pickup. Rick can't tell how old the listing is, but with help from his credit card, runs a public records search for Holtzman owned properties in Curryville. There is a Holtzman farm. It's not designated as a business. Perhaps it's fallen into disuse. In any case, there should be buildings large enough to hide a pickup truck.

He needs to go to Curryville. It's Kate's second day off from work. He'd left her at her apartment last night on her annoyingly practical suggestion that they both needed to get some rest if they were going to pursue their investigation. Not that he slept much. Visions of a porcelain masked face with a cigarillo in its mouth sprang from the darkness, invading his consciousness. He wasn't sure if he had been on the edge of wakefulness or dreaming, but when he finally gave in and threw back the sheet, he was covered in cold sweat and shivering. A steaming shower had helped a little, but only exposing the man behind the mask will bring him any measure of peace.

Kate is probably awake, pulling herself up on her bar or hefting her weights. Even if she isn't, he doesn't think she'll mind if he calls. Last night she was almost as unsettled as he was. Yeah, she'll be up.

* * *

Kate winces at the bite of orange juice that's too long past its expiration date. It's not as potent as a screwdriver, but fermentation is well underway. The light on her machine tells her that her full pot of coffee is ready. Good, she's going to need it. She's finishing filling a large mug when her phone buzzes. She knows it's Rick before she even answers it - as if she can feel him at the other end of the line.

"His name is Dr. Van Holtzman. Kate, we need to go back upstate. Now."

"I'll be ready in 20 minutes."

"Move over, " Kate orders, after Rick pulls to the curb in front of the building that houses her apartment.

Rick stares at her, as her terse command penetrates.

"Move over," she repeats. "Half my wardrobe would fit in the bags under your eyes. We're not going anywhere with you behind the wheel."

Rick gets out of the car. "Yes, Ma'am, Officer Beckett." He begins to walk to the passenger side. "Any other cheery compliments to start our journey?"

Kate slides into the driver's seat and adjusts it forward. "Only that I hope you brought coffee. The stuff I made this morning is terrible."

Rick points to a thermos in the back seat. "I'm not sure that my brewing skills at sunrise were much better, but that got me over here."

The streaming of cars into New York is well underway, but fortunately for Kate and Rick, they're going counter to traffic and exit the city fairly quickly. Even with Kate's expert driving, it will take them two hours at best to get to Curryville. Rick closes his eyes against the brightening sunshine, but the warmth flowing through the glass of his window feels good. And Kate is close enough to touch; her presence, even more than the brightening sky, keeping the darkness at bay. With gentle steps, sleep overtakes him.

* * *

"We're here, Babe," Kate whispers, touching Rick softly on the shoulder.

The view that greets his eyes is not impressive. Rather than neatly planted fields or manicured lawns, The Holtzman farm is a paradise for weeds, which overgrow what remains of the fence. The potholes in the gravel-covered drive leading up to the house will challenge the suspension of his car. There are no signs of livestock unless the Holtzmans raise squirrels, in which case they have a sizable herd. "If Holtzman is taking care of his parents, he's doing a lousy job of it, at least with their property. I have a feeling that when we knock on the door, it will creak open to reveal the Crypt Keeper. But we can't stop now."

Kate makes the short drive to the alleged Holtzman residence as carefully as she can. Rick rings the doorbell but hears no sound from inside. He raps loudly on the weathered wooden door.

When no one answers, Kate peers through a window. "There are two people inside, but they aren't moving."

"Bodies?" Rick wonders.

"Or ill."

"If it could be a medical emergency, it's our duty as good Samaritans to get in there and check on them, wouldn't you say, Officer Beckett?"

"Mike and I have kicked open doors for a lot less, but I think this will do. She reaches in through a broken pane, releases a latch and crawls inside the house. Moments later, she opens the door to let Rick in.

He sniffs. "I don't smell decay. Are they alive?"

"Look for yourself."

An elderly couple occupies two vintage wingback chairs. Their eyes are open, and their chests rise and fall.

A woman, with white braids wrapped around her head like a coronet, looks up at Rick. We can't talk to you. Our son said we can't speak to anyone." She gestures awkwardly at the pill bottles on a nearby table. "Everything will be all right if we just take our medicine and live quietly."

Rick picks up a vial. "Haloperidol, prescribed by Dr. Van Holtzman."

Kate nods. "The doctors at the emergency room call that 'vitamin H.' Mike and I have brought in a few homeless who were having violent delusions. They used it to calm them down."

"The stuff obviously works," Rick observes. "Kate, it all fits." She puts a finger to her lips and signals for him to follow her outside. "Kate, Holtzman is drugging his parents so he can use this place to hide his crimes. We need to call someone, get them out of there."

"Rick, we can't. They have no bruises or broken bones. They're clean, and they don't appear to be starving. Holtzman is taking at least nominal care of them - and it's not illegal for him to prescribe medication. He's a licensed physician. And we broke in. If we call the cops, they could arrest us, and probably tip Holtzman off."

Rick scrubs a hand over his face. "So what do we do?"

"Confront the monster in his lair. Talk to Holtzman. Find something we can use. Babe, are you up for this?"

Rick's fingers curl tightly into fists. "I have to be."


	28. Chapter 28

Stay in Touch

Chapter 28

Dr. Holtzman smiles indulgently at Rick and tolerantly at Kate. "It is fortunate that I had an opening in my schedule. Your project sounds interesting, Mr. Castle. And I welcome Officer Beckett as your consultant. You claim this is a story about a psychopathic killer whose hunting grounds are rural areas and say you're creating a psychiatrist character who is treating this murderer. How can I help you?"

"In a book, for a killer to hold the reader's interest, he can't just go out and shoot or stab someone. He has to have characteristics that let the reader delve into the way his mind works. For example, I was considering having him wear a mask, something like this." Rick holds up a sketch of the demon mask.

Holtzman's face is passive, but his pupils widen, and the rasp in his voice becomes more pronounced. "Very creative."

Rick uses every bit of self-control he possesses to keep from grabbing Holtzman by the throat. "My question, Doctor, is how to justify that particular plot point. Why would a killer wear a mask? His dead victims could never reveal his identity."

"Perhaps, Holtzman suggests, your killer thinks of the mask as his true self, and the face he shows to the world as a mask. When he claims his victims, he wants them to know who is taking their lives."

Castle scribbles in a notebook. "That's very helpful, Doctor. I'm quite pleased we've consulted you. Now, one more thing. This killer goes undetected for years, decades actually. He picks victims who have no family to report them missing. They have no regular workplace to notice their absence. How could he vet them?"

The tiniest hint of a smirk tweaks Holtzman's lips. "As a writer, I would think you could figure that out, Mr. Castle. The easiest way to get a woman to let her guard down is to find her in a difficult situation and offer your help. That could be assisting with a stalled vehicle or offering to guide her if she's lost in an unfamiliar area. Under stress, she will very quickly confide a great deal to a guardian angel."

"And the mask will then reveal the angel to be a demon." Rick finishes. "It's intriguing that you pegged the victims as women, Doctor. I hadn't decided one way or another."

"Women are more likely to discuss their problems, don't you think, Mr. Castle? A sign of the weaker sex?"

Rick can see Kate's eyes narrow and her body tense. "In my experience, Doctor, that very much depends on the woman. I wouldn't want to bet my life on defeating Officer Beckett. Would you?"

"An interesting question, Mr. Castle." Holtzman makes a show of looking at his watch. "This conversation has been - fascinating. But I have a patient arriving in a few minutes, and I must prepare. I'm sure you understand."

Rick and Kate rise from the leather couch where they've been sitting. Rick forces himself to extend his arm. "Thank you for the insights, Doctor."

Rick shakes his hand back and forth as he and Kate return to the car. "I need to wash this, about twenty times. Maybe thirty. Kate, the monster practically confessed. He laid out his whole modus operandi."

"He was playing with us, trying to figure out what we know. It was cat and mouse, and he thinks he's the cat."

"He's not going to be, is he? Not this time. But how do we spring the trap on him?"

"I'm willing to bet that he goes to his parents' farm to make sure that whatever secrets he has hidden there are secure. When he leaves, we follow him. And I don't believe we'll have to wait long."

* * *

Kate's guess is on the money. In less than twenty minutes, Holtzman gets into the BMW parked in his prominently marked space in his clinic's lot and drives off. Kate mentally counts to thirty before starting Rick's car and following the doctor. With only one route between Sagetown and Curryville, she is able to remain far enough behind to keep Holtzman from spotting his tail.

Holtzman passes the gravel drive to the house, almost causing Kate to lose him, and turns into a paved one leading to a large barn, a quarter of a mile beyond it. Kate parks in a spot off the road where the car will be shielded from Holtzman's view by pine trees.

Rick grabs a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment and leaves the car, peering out from cover, with Kate behind him. "He's unlocking a padlock and going in. Kate, I can't see much inside. There's something that looks like it might be Kirsten's truck, but there's a tarp over it."

"And there would be nothing strange about having a truck on a farm anyway," Kate notes. "We need a closer look, but as a cop, anything I see on my own without a warrant could be thrown out in court. And any evidence that flowed from it would be fruit of the poison tree. You're a civilian. The cops here could charge you with trespassing, but it would only be a misdemeanor. And whatever you see would be admissible. But Babe, you don't know what he might have in there. He could have a knife or a gun. If you go in, I can stay on the road to back you up. We can keep our cell phones open so that I can hear you - but if anything happens, I might not be able to make it to you in time."

"Kate, Holtzman has been killing me piece by piece ever since that day in Hollander's Woods. I need to put an end to this, and we might not get another chance. I'm willing to count on you being there for me like we've been for each other ever since that day at the bookstore. I'm going to see what's beneath that tarp."

To shield himself from view as much as he can, Rick stays behind the brush and shrubbery growing along the drive. There's no cover near the entrance, and he tries to make his footsteps on the asphalt as quiet as possible. The vehicle is right inside the large double doors of the building. Squatting on the concrete floor, he lifts the edge of the truck's canvas covering. Even without comparing the number on the license plate to the one burned into his memory, the expired tags and "Gardens Groove" bumper sticker, shout Kirsten.

Rick hears the chilling rasp and feels the bite of a knife at his neck as he's getting to his feet. "That will be the last thing you'll ever see."

Even as Kate charges in at a dead run, raising her off-duty weapon, she can see Rick trying to wrestle the knife from Holtzman. Rick is younger and more massive, but Holtzman has a strength born of madness. "Let him go, or I drop you where you stand."

Holtzman is distracted just enough for Rick to get a knee in his groin and drive his fist into the killer's jaw. As Kate stands over the killer, her gun in both hands, she sees Rick sink to the ground, rivulets of blood staining his collar. "Babe!"

"Just shoot him if he even twitches. I'll be fine." Rick presses one hand against his neck and thumbs 911 with the other.

After an eternity, sirens scream in the distance.


	29. Chapter 29

Stay in Touch

Chapter 29

Kate rolls her eyes as she and Rick leave the courtroom. I can't believe the fine that judge gave you for trespassing. You took down a serial killer, and unless his honor was blind, he couldn't miss what Holtzman did to you."

Rick fingers the still reddened line where emergency room doctors had placed nine stitches. "Makes me look a little piratical, don't you think? Black Pawn wants to make sure it shows in my new publicity shots. And Nikki will be chasing down a psycho psychiatrist in my next book. Not that a mad doctor is a new plot, but our personal experience will add a layer of reality and grit to what might otherwise be hack. Anyway, I don't care about the fine. I'd pay a hundred or a thousand times that much for the knowledge that Holtzman can never hurt anyone again. Have you heard anything about his parents?"

Kate nods. "Now that they're weaned off the drugs, they're pretty functional but mortified by what they learned about Van. They've hired some students from the university to turn the farm into a community-run garden - a tribute of sorts to Kirsten. The food they grow will be contributed to homeless shelters. They're trying to have some good come out of the horrors their son perpetrated. With all the trophies the police found in that barn, it looks like he killed at least 20 women."

Rick shakes his head. "I can't imagine living with the realization that you loosed a fiend like that on the world. I wish them well."

"So do I. I got a text while your lawyer was pleading your case. My transfer came through. I'll be starting at the 12th Precinct on Monday."

Rick grins hopefully. "Which gives you a free weekend?"

"A free Sunday. Saturday will be my last shift with Mike."

"You should have a party or something that night - a way to say goodbye. How about that cop bar the two of you like; do they have a private room?"

"Not that I know of. The place isn't exactly set up for banquets."

"Then how about inviting Mike to the loft? I can stock up on his beer of choice. You guys can invite a few more cops, and Mike can let loose with all his stories about training the indomitable Kate Beckett."

A muscle in Kate's jaw pops. "Rick, I was learning. I made mistakes. You know that. I don't want that stuff ending up on the pages of a Nikki Heat novel."

"Kate, I promise I won't use anything without your permission - and Mike's. But I love hearing about you. And I want you and Mike to have a good time. I'll be on my best behavior."

"All right, I'll ask Mike if he wants to come."

"Outstanding!"

* * *

Rick rechecks the guacamole, seven layer dip, and freshly made tortilla chips. He has hot wings in the oven and Mike's favorite micro-brew, in a tub of ice. All he needs is guests, especially Kate. She should have arrived ten minutes ago, and he's rarely known her to be less than punctual. Butterflies soar in his belly when his cell phone buzzes. "Rick, no one is coming to the party. Mike's dead. He was murdered."

"Kate, what can I do?"

"I don't know. The detectives will be interviewing me and anyone who saw or talked to Mike before he was killed. I don't know when I'll be finished answering questions. And I want to try to contact his family. He told me his parents are gone, but he has a sister, Francesca, who became a nun and is in a convent in Australia. She's listed as his next of kin. It's Sunday there, and so far no one's been able to get through to her. Babe, I just need to know that you're waiting for me, OK?"

"Kate, however long it takes, I'll be here."

Rick slowly circles the loft before turning off the oven and putting things away, as best he can. He hadn't anticipated having much in the way of leftovers and has no idea what to do with them. The food doesn't really matter much. He's more worried about what he can do for Kate. A strawberry shake isn't going to cut it. All he can offer her is his shoulder, his arms, and if she wants it, his bed."

* * *

Perlmutter frowns over the body on his table. He never met Michael Royce, at least not that he can remember. It's bad enough having to deal with the detectives without making the acquaintance of every cop who might be securing a crime scene. But the death of a member of the force is always a top priority. There will be a lot of pressure to get his final report out as fast as he can, preferably in a way the brass can spin to draw the maximum support from the citizens of New York City to track down the killer.

The bullet wounds are not the work of an amateur. There are two at the back of the neck and one in the heart post-mortem. Royce's death was a hit, and one meant to send a message. He clearly pissed off the wrong people. Figuring out which ones, is the detectives' job, not Sidney's, but he's seen this pattern before in alleged executions by the Moretti family. He stated that in his preliminary evaluation at the scene. No doubt IA will be involved. When a crime family puts a contract out on a cop, it's usually because he's been dipping his toe in a forbidden pool.

* * *

Rick's been drowsing in his chair waiting for Kate. At 2 a.m. her knock jars him to instant alertness. She looks tired, but the dragging of her feet on the hardwood floor is more than fatigue. She presses her head against his chest. "Internal Affairs showed up. They grilled me for hours, wanting to know what Mike did, where he went, what he said. They suspect he's dirty, Rick. They might think I'm dirty too."

He kisses the top of her head. "Then they'll find out different. Who could ever be a greater champion of justice than officer extraordinaire Kate Beckett?"

"I don't know, Babe. They have me re-thinking every word Mike ever said, every place we went. Maybe there was something I missed. I was so used to his tall tales; I could have ignored a lie that mattered.

"And I won't get to go back out on the street. I'll be at the 12th, but until I'm cleared, I'll be behind a desk. That's not the kind of cop I want to be. That's not the kind of cop I ever wanted to be."

Rick wraps his arms more tightly around a slender body that suddenly seems fragile. "Kate, you didn't do anything wrong. This will all work out. Hey, compared to the mountain of dirt Bracken shoveled, whatever they think Mike did can't be more than a molehill, can it? And I'd be willing to bet you're a champion whack-a-moler."

Kate looks up at him, a smile ghosting her lips. "Won the most tickets at every pizza party in third and fourth grade. After that, I moved on to Skee-Ball."

"A woman after my own heart. I've spent many a token aiming for the center ring. I'll bet you hit it every time."

"Often enough to win free pizza."

"Kate, you always hit your target, whatever it is. And whatever it takes to allay Internal Affair's suspicions, you'll do that too."

Wordlessly, their lips meet.


	30. Chapter 30

Stay in Touch

Chapter 30

Rick's arm is asleep, but he's not about to move it. Kate's been lying on it for the past couple of hours - since he could finally hear the soft even breathing confirming that she'd finally managed to fall asleep. If she needs the reassurance of his embrace to stay that way, so be it.

It's still early. He can't see his watch or the screen of his phone, but only faint rays of light are leaking into the window. And it's Sunday, which means Kate won't have to report for work - such as it will be until the Mike Royce mess is straightened out.

He finds it hard to believe that Mike was dirty. As much time as Kate spent with her partner, on and off duty, she would have picked up on the signs. She would have hated to accept them, but she would never have been blind to them. Even before Kate and Rick became intimate, during the years of their correspondence, he became aware of just how observant and perceptive she could be. There has to be another explanation for Mike's death, but right now, Rick has no idea what it could be.

Kate shifts position, just enough to take the weight off his numb limb. He hisses as the virtual pins and needles jab through his skin.

Kate stirs again. "Babe, are you all right?"

"I will be in a minute. More to the point, are you?"

Kate shoves the hair in her face, back behind her ear. "Not really. All night, I kept remembering times Mike would make a phone call standing far enough away from me that I couldn't catch what he was saying. At first, I thought maybe he had a bookie, but he never showed signs of a gambling problem. He had informants he wouldn't let me meet, too. He said that was because they were used to him and he didn't want to spook them. Hell, he could have been calling a girlfriend and telling the truth about his sources. But then there was also all the work he did to learn about tracing people by computer. Maybe his story about wanting to be a bounty hunter was just a cover. I don't know anymore."

"But you're going to find out."

"I'm not sure I can. I'm going to be under a microscope. And I want to try again to reach Mike's sister. He wasn't exactly an observant Catholic. As far as I know, if he had a Sunday off, he spent it worshipping at the altar of football. But she might want a religious funeral, once the M.E. releases the body. The one doing the autopsy report is a doctor named Perlmutter. I've never met him. I've heard that he's not known for being friendly, but he's good at his job. My parents have a home church. We mostly attended on Christmas and Easter, but at least I met the priest there - when he presided over my mother's requiem mass. Francesca has to know more about services like that than I do, but if she wants my help, I'll do whatever she asks me to."

"I want to help you any way I can, Kate."

Kate brushes his lips with hers. "I know. I just don't know what you can do."

Rick pushes up on his elbows. "Coffee maybe? Skim milk with double strength Madagascar vanilla?"

"Sounds good."

* * *

"Everything secure?" Marco asks when he relieves Nico at guard duty.

"Quiet. If the cops got on to what Royce was doing, there's no sign of it. There's some espresso if you want it - and some _bombolone._ "

"No thanks. I brought my own stuff to eat - outside. I can't touch anything that's been in the building with those chemicals."

Nico shrugs. "You're missing out on a good thing. They come from Marconi's, but suit yourself."

"Frank says there's going to be a pick-up of some of the drums today. He wants to move as much as he can out of here, ASAP, just in case someone comes sniffing around, but he needs to find buyers, and right now the heat is on."

Nico shrugs again. "Some politician wants to look tough, so we slow things down for a while. Sooner or later, they pick up again. I'm going home to get some sleep - or something else if I get lucky. You have a good day."

* * *

Kate sighs as she thumbs through a stack of civilian reports, before sorting them into piles of actually relating to a crime, venting, and just plain crazy. The venting pile is the tallest one. Kate feels sorry for the people who took the time to come in and file the paperwork, but there's nothing she can do for them. There is one complaint concerning a situation that might be against the law, but out of N.Y.P.D. jurisdiction. It describes a warehouse near the harbor, full of drums of chemicals. The fisherman who filed it was worried about possible pollution of the river, and that the proper placards were not posted to disclose the hazards of whatever is in the building. His first concern is a subject for the EPA. She will fill out a form to pass it on - if she can figure out what form she needs. The second is under the jurisdiction of the fire department. For that one, she knows what to do. She did crowd control on several fires and became acquainted with a couple of inspectors. If there's anything to address, one of them can figure out what to do about it. Thinking back, she remembers that Mike had asked one of them a few questions. She never knew what they were talking about, but Mike had looked uncharacteristically serious. It's a long shot, but she decides to query that inspector about what Mike wanted to know. She has to talk to him about the complaint, anyway.

* * *

Rick feels a bit guilty about his relief that Alexis asked to extend her stay at music camp for another two weeks, for an advanced session. He misses his daughter, but it's just as well that she'll be out of the loft a bit longer. Right now he has to be fully available for whatever Kate needs.

He surveys his carefully set table. He'd thought about putting out candles, or perhaps even flowers, but it doesn't seem like the time for that kind of romance. He does have a full-bodied red wine to go with the thick, savory stew he prepared as comfort food. He has biscuits too, and of course something chocolate for dessert. All of that may not help Kate feel better, but it can't hurt.

The hint of a smile on Kate's face when she arrives surprises him. "I detect your 'I uncovered a clue,' look."

Kate stretches up for a brief kiss. "More like stumbled on one - maybe. Mike was looking into something he didn't tell me about, but I have a handle on whom he did tell, a fire inspector named Lanny Foster. I only spoke with him for a couple of minutes, before he was called out to the scene of a blaze. But he told me enough for me to think that Mike was checking out something he thought was criminal, not wallowing in the mud himself. I'll be talking to Foster more tomorrow. At least I have a trail to follow." She draws a deep breath. "Something smells fantastic! And I'm starved!"

Rick grins. "Glad to hear it. Fuel for a hungry officer of the law, coming right up."


	31. Chapter 31

Stay in Touch

Chapter 31

Rick can feel a few crumbs under him as Kate snuggles into his side. Eating chocolate blackout cake in bed has its drawbacks, but it definitely has its pleasures as well. As tightly as Kate's pressing against him, the true joy of the evening may just be starting. He slides his hand down her back, only the fabric of her N.Y.P.D. T-shirt between them.

Her thighs open, the moist heat of her against his hip. She jerks as his fingers find their way to the source. She pants, moving urgently beneath his touch, as he can feel his own growing need forcing itself against the barrier of his shorts. "Kate, are you…?"

In silent response, she grabs his waistband, pushing the obstacle down and out of the way. Her fingers wrap around his arousal, moving him to near desperation before guiding him to her waiting depths.

Their mouths lock, the lingering taste of chocolate sweetening their joining. Kate takes double handfuls of the muscular flesh of Rick's buttocks, urging him on. He needs no encouragement. The hardwood floor creaks beneath the oscillation of the bed, as the pressure builds within them.

Kate is the first to feel the climax coming. As the undefinable change heralds her impending release, she tightens around him, generating even higher levels of sensation. She can feel his breathing quicken as he thrusts until simultaneous cries force their mouths apart and the waves of completion crash through them.

* * *

It's still dark when Rick feels Kate leave his arms. "Don't get up. Stay in bed."

"I can't. I'm meeting Lanny Foster at Cupa Joe before my shift at the 12th starts."

Rick groans. "Cupa Joe! Joe's sludge tastes like a monkey peed in battery acid. It's a study in everything not to do to produce a decent brew. Is it part of cop training that you learn to tolerate the worst swill masquerading as coffee?"

"There's a special seminar on it at the academy. Listen. If I can find out what I need to know about what Mike was doing, it will be worth it. Besides, Cupa Joe's will make me appreciate your artistry as a barista more."

"I suppose there's that. Can I make you some eggs while you get ready? Joe's breakfast offerings are almost as bad as the coffee."

Kate presses a quick kiss to his lips. "I'd like that."

* * *

The kindest word Kate can think of for the liquid in her cup is "murky." Lanny, however, seems to be enjoying his. She wonders if his taste buds were poisoned by smoke or perhaps burned away by firehouse chili. It doesn't matter. He's a fount of information.

Storage of hazardous chemicals used in cooking meth has been a problem in the city for years. Lanny ticks off acetone, red phosphorus and anhydrous ammonia, explaining that under normal conditions the red phosphorus isn't dangerous, but high temperatures can convert it to the white form which ignites spontaneously in air producing a raft of toxic fumes. Legitimate users of the components of the drug-making process keep them carefully segregated and comply with strict safety regulations for containment. Without those controls, there are fires, explosions, and poisonings, striking not just the criminals running the operations, but the innocents in the surrounding areas.

Mike thought he might know about a storage facility for stolen drug constituents, and he had asked Lanny what some of the telltale signs might be. From what Lanny gathered, Mike might have uncovered something massive and possibly dangerous. But Lanny had also suggested that there was also the possibility that it was just one of a number of illegal hazardous waste storage sites around the city maintained by companies that didn't want to shell out for proper disposal. Mike had explained that he had his reasons for thinking that there was a crime family involved and he was going to try to connect the dots. Lanny takes the last sip of his own toxic waste. "That's the last I heard from Mike. He said he was close to having everything pulled together and he was going to bring the situation to the attention of the higher-ups. That was a few days before he was killed."

Kate stares down into her barely touched cup, studying the pattern of the oil floating on top. Mike was doing what he'd always been doing, trying to go after the bad guys. They'd just gotten him first. Now she has to prove it.

* * *

Sister Mary Francis stretches, trying to work the kinks out of her body after a flight that took almost 20 hours. She is supposed to call Kate Beckett, who was Michael's partner, to pick her up. When Kate first made contact, she called her Francesca. For years, Mike was the only one who still did that. It's evident that he and Kate were close - at least as close as Mike would let anyone get to him. Since the death of their parents, he'd closed himself off. He still met the world with a grin, always ready with a joke or a story, but what was inside was unreachable, even for her. He devoted himself to his mission, as she did to hers.

Mary Francis surveys the line at customs. It doesn't look too bad. Her order long ago abandoned voluminous habits, where a hardened official might suspect that contraband could be concealed. Except for her veil, she's wearing modest street clothes. She doesn't have much luggage, either, one of the advantages of a vow of poverty. She decides that if she calls Kate now, the timing should work out.

* * *

At the wheel of Rick's car, Kate pulls into short-term parking. She could have rented a vehicle for the day, but Rick insisted there was no point. He would have gone with her to the airport, but he had a book signing. He offered to try to get out of it, but the last thing Kate wanted to do was interfere with his work. More than most, she understands how important his books can be in his reader's lives.

Francesca, Sister Mary Francis, sent a picture. She looks a little bit like Mike around the eyes and the mouth, and shouldn't be too hard to spot in the pick-up zone. The nun told Kate that the church would be providing lodging for her, in the Manhattan parish where she and Mike had grown up. The service will be at the church the family had attended, and Mike will be buried in a Catholic cemetery. Kate's part in all of it will be getting the word out to the other cops, especially Mike's friends. With the cloud he was under, there would be no formal police memorial service. One could be arranged once he was cleared. Kate would make sure one would be.

Kate spots Sister Mary Francis waiting for her. She looks even more like Mike in person, and Kate's not sure if she's creeped out or comforted. Maybe a little of both. Kate waves in greeting and Mary Francis opens her arms for a hug. Kate hadn't expected that, but she embraces the woman. The nun smiles at her. "Mike wrote that his new rookie was beautiful. He wasn't exaggerating."

Mike had never paid Kate that compliment himself. Apparently, there was a lot he hadn't confided to her, but she'd be finding out at least some of what it was.


	32. Chapter 32

Stay in Touch

Chapter 32

"Kirkland!" Kate calls after a detective passing by her desk at the 12th. "Didn't you used to work Organized Crime?"

He turns. "Beckett, right? You were Royce's partner. I saw you at the darts tournament. You nailed it."

Kate gives a cursory nod. "Thanks. And what I wanted to ask you about has to do with Royce. I think the Morettis took him out when he got onto something they were doing and was going to blow the whistle. The pattern of shots in the autopsy report fits their M.O."

Kirkland shakes his head. "I'm not even going to ask how you got to see that."

"It's no secret," Kate explained. "His sister asked to read it, and we talked about it. Sister Mary Francis is as curious as Mike was."

Kirkland's mouth dropped open. "Royce's sister is a nun? I would never have… never mind. You know the current theory going around is that Royce was working for the Morettis."

Kate's eyes flash. "I don't believe that for a minute, and I doubt that any cop that knew him could either. I'm hoping that includes you."

"So how do you believe I can help?"

"Do the Morettis cook their own meth?"

Kirkland snorts. "They wouldn't risk their butts that way, but they have close ties with their suppliers. What are you getting at?"

"I believe Royce found a cache of what the Morettis' producers would need to make their trash and the Moretti's took him out before he could make his case to the brass. I was hoping you could put out some feelers."

"I'll see what I can do. But Beckett, watch your ass. If the Morettis get wind you're looking into this, they could take you out the same way they did Royce."

"I've had worse after me, but I appreciate the warning." She hands him a small stack of cards. "These are about the mass for Royce. I'd appreciate it if you'd pass them around."

"Sure. Will do."

* * *

"Hey, be careful with those," Marco cautions the two men loading drums onto a truck. "That can be nasty stuff."

"Frank told us to hurry it up," One of the men responds. "He's got people expecting the shipment this morning."

"You hurry it up too much, and you won't get it there at all," Marco warns.

"Yeah, yeah. If Frank calls, tell him we're on the way to the farm."

* * *

Since rumors started flying that the New York City Farm Colony had been used for satanic sacrifices, very few New Yorkers bother to approach the place. A truck approaches it now, bearing the drums that had so concerned Marco. The meth production operation set up by the Jerassi Brothers is steadily expanding, and the raw materials are badly needed. The driver doesn't even count the money in the envelope Peter Jerassi hands him. No one can stiff the Moretti family - and live to tell about it. No one can blow the whistle on the Morettis either; the dumb cop found that out the hard way, but would never be able to pass the message on.

Peter Jerassi looks around with satisfaction as the drums are carted by electric dolly to several concrete structures designed to contain them safely. The Morettis are fools to keep them in an ordinary warehouse, but that's not his problem. He and Timothy run a tight ship and reap the profits. If the Morettis want to blow themselves up - well the families have been stupid before. He's glad to be an independent. Less trouble all around.

* * *

The only requiem mass Kate can recall attending was the one for her mother, and that is mostly a blur punctuated by moments like seeing the anguish on her father's face, even as the ceremony was supposed to bring comfort. She's hoping this one will be better for Sister Mary Francis. Rick is next to Kate, their hands brushing every so often, but not clasping. Just having him there helps - a lot. That many of the cops with whom Mike drank beer and exchanged stories have shown up in uniform is a testament to their belief that he was not only a friend but a good cop. She just needs to make sure that IA comes to the same conclusion.

As usual, Rick has done some research of his own, picking up on something she missed. Six months before, a large quantity of chemicals seized from drug operations had been on their way to a disposal facility. It never made it. The semi carrying the drums had been hijacked, and the driver disappeared. The crime was never solved, and the contents of the shipment were never located. There were rumors that someone in the department had tipped off the Morettis, but they were never proven. Rick speculated that Mike might have discovered some clue about where the contraband ended up. With as many contacts as Mike developed over the years, Rick's theory is more than plausible. And if word got back to the Morettis that Mike was looking into the situation, they wouldn't have hesitated to take him out of the picture.

She has to look into the details of that cargo and who would have known about it. Easier said than done. She'll need a contact in Narcotics. Mike had one, but she doesn't. She can think of one person who might, and he joined Mike's friends at the church - Captain Montgomery. She's hoping she and Rick can catch up with him after the service.

* * *

Montgomery motions Kate and Rick to benches set up in a small copse of trees on the edge of the church grounds. "I had a feeling you'd be looking into Mike's death, Officer Beckett. A bulldog like you could never let the accusations against him stand. And I assume that Mr. Castle is assisting you."

Rick waves a protesting hand. "Kate's doing the heavy lifting. I just hit a few keys on the computer. You can be of more help than I can."

"What do you need, Kate?" Montgomery asks.

"I need to know who on the N.Y.P.D. would have been aware of the plan to transport a load of seized drug chemicals that was stolen - and might have been on the Moretti's payroll."

Montgomery lets out a low whistle. "That first part is easy. I can get a list of assignments. As to who was working for the Moretti's, if IA found out, whoever it was would be fired and charged. You know that, Kate."

"And if someone in IA was in on it?" Rick asks.

Montgomery presses his hand to the balding crown of his head. "That would be a real mess."

"But it would account for IA being so fast to peg Mike as dirty," Rick points out. "Someone in Narcotics could have helped the Morettis pull off the theft and had a coconspirator in IA discredit Mike."

Who's leading the investigation against him?" Kate queries.

Montgomery's face is grim. "Holliwell, it's a cop named Stan Holliwell, just promoted to lieutenant."

"And what do you know about this Holliwell?" Rick asks.

"Not much," Montgomery admits. "Like most cops, I have as little to do with IA as possible. But I can make some quiet inquiries and let Kate know what I find."

Kate pushes up from her seat. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me, Beckett. If cops working for the Morettis are framing Royce, I want to know about it as much as you do."


	33. Chapter 33

Stay in Touch

Chapter 33

Kate glances down at the tapioca pudding next to the turkey and gravy on Sister Mary Francis' plate at a buffet restaurant the nun has chosen. "That's an interesting combination. Mike used to eat things like that."

An eerily familiar twinkle appears in Mary Francis' eyes. "I know. We used to compete. I remember once he put chocolate sauce on macaroni and cheese. He wolfed it down like he was eating a sundae. And he would stuff almost anything in a tortilla and call it a burrito. He made one with fish and gummy bears."

"He was a little bit like Rick is. This morning he made me a chocolate chimichanga. It wasn't bad, actually."

"And both spinners of tall tales," Mary Francis considers, "although I imagine that for your boyfriend it's been very lucrative."

"My boyfriend," Kate repeats. "I don't think I've ever thought of him that way. We wrote to each other for so long before anything happened, and since then we've never put a name to our relationship."

"Whatever it is, seems to work," Mary Francis offers. "I think Mike would have gone after you if he hadn't been your training officer. He talked about you a lot. He said you were the best rookie he ever had. But he always told me that relationships like that are dangerous. If you get distracted, you can both end up dead."

Kate lays her fork on the table. "I can't help thinking, that maybe if he'd opened up to me, or if I'd just been more aware, Mike might still be alive."

Mary Francis reaches across the table to take Kate's hand. "Don't even think like that. Mike was a master at keeping a lid on what he was really feeling. If he wouldn't let you in, there was nothing you could have done."

Kate stares down at a meal she no longer has the appetite to eat. She wishes she could be as sure as Mary Francis is. She needs to get back to the 12th soon anyway. Her desk is stacked, and with any luck, she may hear something from Montgomery. "You're sure you'll make it to the airport all right?"

"One of the deacons is driving me. You just take care of whatever you need to do. I'll send you an email when I get back to my convent. I hope we can stay in touch."

"I'd like that."

* * *

Montgomery pages through Stanley Holliwell's personnel file. It cost him his best bottle of scotch, but it was worth the investment. The IA cop had been heavily involved in setting up a system to monitor the communications of police officers, particularly emails and document requests. He could have eavesdropped on Mike. He can spy on anyone on the force. If he's working for the Morettis - Montgomery's stomach clenches. Holliwell could have easily tipped the family off to a drug shipment, or almost anything else. With GPS, he might have known exactly where the truck was

Montgomery pulls his department issue phone out of his pocket and throws it on his desk. He doesn't dare call Kate on it - or his landline for that matter. God only knows what Holliwell can tap. His personal phone is in a drawer in his study at home. From now on, it won't be. Right now, he needs to talk to Kate Beckett, and it will have to be in person. He could be observed approaching her desk at the precinct, but Roy does not doubt that she'll be seeing Rick Castle soon enough. From what he can tell, the two of them can barely keep their eyes or their hands off each other.

* * *

When Kate arrives at the loft, she's startled to see Montgomery perched at the counter leaning over a glass with two fingers of Scotch. "What happened?"

Montgomery shakes his head. "Sit down Kate."

Kate stalks the floor banging her fist into her palm. "So you're saying that through Holliwell, the Morettis potentially have a direct pipeline into N.Y.P.D. operations?"

Montgomery downs the rest of his drink. "That's what I'm saying, but we can get around it talking here."

"So how do we take him down?" Rick demands.

"If we're going to nail Holliwell," Montgomery declares, "we need to set a trap."

"You mean plant false information for him to pass on to the Morettis?" Rick infers.

Montgomery nods. "Chances are if Kate communicated with Lanny Foster through departmental email, Holliwell already knows she's onto something. I'll put some communications out about a raid on a warehouse. We pull in Organized Crime - person to person - to put a watch on the Morettis, see if they try to move anything. If they do, we have them. And once we make it clear we know they have a source of information in the department, they should be tripping over themselves to strike a deal with the D.A. to throw Holliwell and anyone else they can finger under the bus."

"What about Kate?" Rick asks. "If Holliwell is onto her, she's back in the crosshairs."

"Kate will be surrounded by cops every moment she's at the 12th, and when she isn't, there will be a protective detail on her. I've already ordered one."

"For how long?" Rick demands.

Montgomery shrugs. "I don't know, but I don't think she'll need them for too much time. The Morettis are not known for letting grass grow under their feet."

Rick reaches for a decanter to pour a Scotch for himself. "Unless that grass is over someone's grave. It better not be Kate's."

* * *

Rick can't hold Kate tightly enough as they spoon. It's just not fair! After Bracken and Coonan were put in prison, he'd thought he could breathe again. Kate was still a police officer, but there was no longer a reason for someone to be gunning for her any more than any other low-ranking cop. And she was under Mike's protective eyes. Now there may be someone out there again who wants to take her from him. He feels like hiring a squadron of commandos to surround her, but she'd never go for it, even if he could.

He kisses the top of her head. The fruity smell of her shampoo has dissipated, to be replaced by the fragrance that is uniquely Kate Beckett. He inhales deeply. As long as that scent can fill his lungs, he knows she is with him, and she is safe.

* * *

"What the F***!" Frank Moretti bellows at the call from Holliwell. "You damn well better be sure about this."

"The order went out this morning," Holliwell swears. "They'll have to gear up for the raid. They're going to coordinate with a hazmat team. It will probably happen at dawn tomorrow. That's the way these things usually go. If you don't want to get caught with a warehouse full of that crap, you better get it out today."

Frank tosses his phone on his desk. Holliwell is a weasel. He even looks a little like one. But his information is reliable. Franco can bring in some of the trucks from the waste management business in Jersey and haul the drums out of the warehouse. Until he sets up another place, Marco can stash them in the hangar at the private strip the family uses to bring in shipments from Chicago. Taking out Royce should have taken care of things, but his partner has been sticking her nose in. Damn cops. They're like roaches. There are always more. Once he gets the stuff moved, the family will be doing more extermination.


	34. Chapter 34

Stay in Touch

Chapter 34

The detail following the caravan of trucks from New Jersey hangs back. If they lose it, a copter can spot it from the air, but they have a pretty good idea where it's headed. The river is lined with warehouses, many of which are properties under one Moretti shell company or another. As long as the vehicles are going in that direction, it won't be hard to keep them under surveillance, and it's better for the N.Y.P.D. not to use a noisy aircraft if they can avoid it. If they tip the Morettis off, they could blow the operation.

The three Hasty Waste vehicles pull up in front of the warehouse. The third truck is backing up to the loading dock when a tactical N.Y.P.D. squad arrives accompanied by a liaison from the EPA and an F.D.N.Y. hazmat team. Marcus tries his best to slip out a back door, but the cops forming a perimeter around the building immediately stop him. With no sense in going for his gun, he sinks to his knees and puts his hands behind his head. Frank really screwed this deal up.

* * *

Lieutenant Stanley Holliwell looks up to see a black man holding up a captain's badge stride to his desk, with six uniformed officers behind him. "What is this about?" Despite the mask of indignation he's trying his best to assume, he feels an urgent need to visit the men's room.

"It's about you being an informant for the Morettis," Montgomery declares.

Holliwell never makes it to a toilet.

* * *

Roy Montgomery throws a pair of sweat pants through the door of Holliwell's holding cell. "Here, I don't need you stinking up my interrogation room." Montgomery walks away after making sure the door is secure, but Holliwell knows he's changing in full view of a video camera. It's a throwback to the accidents he used to have on the playground at recess, while the other kids laughed and pointed. He swore then that no one would ever laugh at him again, and with the power he's had in IA, no one has. But now he's helpless. He can't even hide in the bushes like he did when he was a kid. His revenge then had been to tattle on his torturers. It may still work. He hasn't just been gathering dirt on cops; he's been accumulating information on the Morettis. He must have something worth trading. It's his only hope.

* * *

Frank Moretti knows he's in trouble. The trucks never arrived at the hangar, and he can't reach Vitelli or Marcus. He has to go to ground, and fast, but he's going to send Rizzo after Royce's bitch partner first.

* * *

Holliwell can't escape Montgomery's glare. Even when he turns away, he can feel Montgomery's eyes burning into him. To further his humiliation, he's shackled.

Kate stares into the interrogation room through a one-way mirror, grateful that Montgomery is allowing her to observe - a privilege not usually accorded to cops just past their rookie year. She's wishing Rick could be with her to see Holliwell sweat, but Alexis picked up a virus at camp and the resident nurse thought it better that she should recover at home. Rick's making the long drive to pick his daughter up and take her to their long-time family physician. She can't blame him for that.

It does mean that things will be cooling down between them for a while, at least at the loft. Kate is not about to parade her relationship with Rick in front of his daughter, and Rick will be spending his time taking temperatures and making sure Alexis is comfortable. And if the Morettis send someone gunning for Kate, she doesn't want to be anywhere near the little girl or further endanger her father either. Things will work out. She has to believe that. Being with him again will be even headier for the wait. If anything, his devotion to his daughter makes Kate love him that much more.

Love? Where did that come from? She'd never told Rick that she loves him. She'd never even admitted it to herself. Their years of signing off with "Stay in touch," had created a safe distance between them, which they'd closed while together in the Hamptons. Now, she can't even imagine not working with him, laughing with him or making love with him. He's filling the holes in her life in a way she'd never believed anyone could. Peanut butter and jelly: it's as good a description for their pairing as any. They are sweet and more than a little nutty together, but somehow the combination is delicious.

She doubts that Holliwell is finding anything delicious right now, but Captain Montgomery may be. It looks like the IA lieutenant is about to spill anything that's left in his guts. Montgomery is ready to listen and so is Kate. Afterward, her apartment is waiting for her, and with all the time she's been spending at the loft, most likely desperately in need of dusting. She'll have to pick up some groceries too, after being spoiled by Rick's well-stocked refrigerator and pantry. She could cook Nonna's meat sauce, but somehow it doesn't seem worth the trouble to make it for one person. She can put away the extra to share with Rick when Alexis is feeling better. That will be terrific.

Listening to Holliwell whimper isn't bad either. Not bad at all.

* * *

"Dad," Alexis objects as Rick tucks a quilt around her in the back seat of his sedan. "I'm not that sick."

Rick secures the last corner. "We'll see what the doctor has to say about that. Until then, the nurse advised keeping you warm and giving you lots of fluids. I have ginger ale, the kind you like, and I made lemonade, the real stuff with lemon juice, for the vitamin C."

Alexis rolls her eyes. "We could just stop for a Biggy Gulp."

Rick shakes his head. "Those dye your tongue blue and the doctor won't be able to see if it's coated or not. You can pick the radio stations, though. Anything but trance music. I'm not about to run us off the road."

Alexis sighs. "Just find something classical. If I can't play the music at camp, at least I can listen to it."

"Roger that," Rick agrees, sliding behind the wheel. As much as he wants to get his daughter safely home, he is not looking forward to a loft without Kate's presence. He understands her reasons for staying away. He even agrees with them. But that won't compensate for the emptiness that will haunt every corner, and chill his bed. Captain Montgomery was optimistic, but Rick has a sinking feeling that Alexis will be back to her perky self, long before the danger to Kate from the Moretti family is resolved. He only has to survive until that happens. He knows that he will, but he's missing Kate already.

* * *

Minnie Rizzoli doesn't look like she could kill anyone. That's what makes her so good at her job. Her five foot nothing height, elfin face, and large baby blue eyes don't scare anyone. But Frank Moretti knows what she can do - ten hits for him during the last three years, the latest being Michael Royce, who was ever so gallant offering to help her carry her load of groceries up to her grandmother's apartment. He never saw the Sig concealed in one of her bags. So now Minnie has to take out Royce's partner. The target's not even a seasoned cop like Royce was. It should be easy.


	35. Chapter 35

Stay in Touch

Chapter 35

Dear Rick,

I hope you have a chance to read your email, especially this one. I wish you'd been with me to see Holliwell crumble in front of Captain Montgomery. The captain should have been selling tickets and popcorn. Holliwell flipped on Frank Moretti, who's been supervising the family's drug operations in New York. The D.A. is also going to make him elocute to every scrap of information about the N.Y.P.D. that he passed on to the Morettis. If it turns out there's evidence that the driver of the semi carrying the chemicals which were stolen was killed, Holliwell will be charged as an accessory to two murder's: the driver's and Mike's.

From what I've been able to pick up, the raid on the warehouse with the chemicals went great. Our guys collared one of the Moretti soldiers, who is also willing to flip on Frank and may know a lot of family stuff that Holliwell doesn't. The F.D.N.Y. hazmat team took custody of everything that was seized, and they'll be coordinating with the EPA to dispose of it properly. I think someone said something about a cement kiln. Wouldn't it be ironic if that garbage helped a legitimate company compete with the Morettis in the building trades?

The bad news is that Frank Moretti is in the wind. Until the Organized Crime Unit or the FBI can track him down, Montgomery is going to keep the detail on me. I appreciate his concern for my safety, but it's kind of a pain in the ass. I have to make sure they know everywhere I'm going.

I went to that little market you told me about. I wanted to get some fresh oregano for one of Nonna's recipes. The place was even better than you described it. I found my oregano and some amazing fennel. Mrs. Finelli helped me pick it out. She reminded me a little of Nonna. That was bittersweet.

I'm hoping that whatever Alexis caught at camp isn't too serious - and that you don't catch it from her. With your mother on the road, there's no one to take care of you. I wish I could be there. Every time I see my security detail, I'm reminded that its better if I stay away, but I miss you.

Despite the fact that I'm buried in paper at the precinct, I'm now determined to make detective in three years. Montgomery thinks I should be able to do it, especially given my record of uncovering significant crimes. You've been a big part of that, and I hope we can continue to put our heads together.

I'm wondering how your Nikki Heat book is going. I know it's asking a lot to want you to share something you haven't had a chance to finish, but I'd love to read whatever you have so far. Some new Richard Castle would help make up for the boredom of my days behind a desk.

Tell Alexis I'm thinking of her.

Stay in touch,

Kate

* * *

Dear Kate,

I've had a lot of chances to read my email. I've also had more time to miss you, perhaps more than you can know. Alexis spends a lot of her day sleeping. The doctor says it's the best thing for her. The best he could figure out, she caught a nasty respiratory virus that originated in China. There were a couple of Chinese music students at camp with her so that tracks. Other than keeping her warm and hydrated, there isn't much we can do except wait it out. That may take a while. Since the bug may be new to this country, Alexis probably has no resistance. Most likely, I don't either, but the doctor gave me an anti-viral that might keep me from catching it. It was too late to give it to Alexis because it would only work in the first couple of days after exposure. But I may get lucky. So far, so good.

I would have loved to see Montgomery interrogating Holliwell. A scene like that would make great comic relief in a book. I may write one. I have been making a lot of progress on Nikki Heat so far. I'm not quite ready to send anything to you yet. The writer in me balks at sending out his baby half-dressed, but it should be zipped and buttoned up soon.

I know Mrs. Finelli well. She's taught me a lot. They aren't in season right now, but when they are, you should let her sell you some rutabagas. They look ugly, but they can taste wonderful. They were one of the ways I could get nutrition into Alexis when she went through the stage of turning up her nose at everything that didn't look like fast food. I mashed them up like potatoes and put the end product in little cardboard cups like it had been served up by the Colonel. Wow! There's a piece of parental trivia.

I'm disappointed but not surprised that Frank Moretti disappeared. I've researched a number of guys like him. They have their escape plans ready when the cops start to close in. The thing is that wherever he is, he'll need money. That means there's a trail. You know more about that than I do after helping Mike set up to trace things by computer. I don't write much about forensic accounting because it tends to put even my most faithful readers to sleep, but after all, that's how the Untouchables got Capone. From what I've heard, the FBI is pretty good at that sort of thing. Let's just hope they're quick about it.

Please, keep in touch,

Rick

* * *

Minnie Rizzoli is scoping out the building where Kate Beckett lives. Those old structures are solid. The walls are plaster, not thin gypsum board she can easily breach. There's no suitable position for her to put a shot through one of Beckett's windows, and they're covered anyway. But there are always possibilities. The place has a basement. The door into it opens into an alley with a locked wrought iron gate. The lock won't be much of a problem, especially after dark. She's spotted the security detail, but their line of sight is primarily on the front door. Even if they see her, she won't seem like a threat. She never does.

Going through the basement will get Minnie inside, but there will still be Beckett's apartment to breach. It's a good bet that she'll have one of the security locks with the bar that goes into the floor. Most of the flats in buildings like this do. And Beckett's a cop. Even if Minnie did manage to break in, she could end up facing the barrel of a police special. She'll just have to go into her act so Beckett will let her in.

It shouldn't be hard to pose as a new neighbor who wants to get acquainted. She can bake up a batch of her peanut butter and M&M cookies. Those get her through the door almost anywhere. Mike Royce had been about to dig into a plate of them when she pumped her rounds into him. She smiles to herself at using the same gag to take down his partner. All she needs to do is pick up a bag of M&Ms on her way to her apartment uptown. She'll be ready to fulfill her contract that night.


	36. Chapter 36

Stay in Touch

Chapter 36

With her gun securely in her waistband at the small of her back, Kate looks down at the person on her threshold, who's introduced herself as Minnie. The tiny woman holding a plate of cookies conjures up thoughts of Disney, but not Mickey's love interest. Her heart-shaped face and pixie cut are more like Tinkerbell, except that she's talking - a lot. Minnie weaves a tale about taking care of the apartment down the hall while her grandmother is in rehab from a fall, and wanting to get to know her neighbors.

The trouble with Minnie's story is that Kate knows it isn't true. When Mike helped her find her coveted rent-stabilized apartment, they checked out all of her potential neighbors. The grandmother Minnie claims to have doesn't exist. The unit she is referring to is occupied by a transgender who owns a bar, justly famous as a protest site for equal rights. Kate's met her in the laundry room. Candy Stevens is a nurturing senior, but she's no one's grandmother.

Reaching into her pocket, Kate activates the silent alarm for her security detail. "I just started a pot of coffee, if you'd like to come in, we can share some of those incredible looking cookies."

Minnie flashes her best grin. "I'd like that."

Kate closes the door to mask the sound of the approach of her guardians but doesn't latch it, and offers Minnie a seat at the small table in her kitchen. To stall for the time her protection team needs to get up the stairs, she sets out two mugs. Minnie puts her plate on the table, but her tote bag is still on her arm. From the indentation it's making in Minnie's skin, Kate guesses that there's something heavy inside. A gun? Kate will know soon enough.

Kate fills both cups with fragrant light roast and is offering Minnie a choice of sugar or stevia when officers March and Freemont burst in, weapons drawn. Minnie gazes at them, forming her features into a mask of frightened bewilderment. She turns back to Kate, who is holding her own gun, aimed directly at Minnie. "I don't understand. Why are the police here? I'm just a neighbor."

Kate nods to March and Fremont to cuff her petite visitor. "You screwed up your cover. I don't know who you really are, but if you wanted to get to me, you should have done a better job on your research."

* * *

It's almost déjà vu as Kate stands in front of the glass, watching the interrogation of Minnie Rizzoli, only this time, instead of Montgomery, Detective McNulty is doing the questioning. Rizzoli has no maneuvering room. Ballistics has already matched the bullets that killed Mike to the Sig that was in Minnie's tote. The murder of a cop will put the diminutive assassin away for life, and McNulty is pointing out that her only hope for any kind of mercy from the court is to give him everything she knows about the person who hired her. That would have to be Frank Moretti.

Minnie insists that she never met her employer. She receives instructions by encrypted email, and her fee is wired to her account. Kate digs her front teeth into her lip. It's as Rick said. Money always leaves a trail. The forensic accountants can track down the account from which the funds were wired, and with any luck, its owner. And Kate intends to enjoy watching the prison gates slam behind both of them.

* * *

Alexis thumbs a remote control, turning off the television. "I'm bored."

Rick raises an eyebrow. "With zombies? You've never been bored with zombies before."

"I've never had to stay in here for two weeks before," Alexis complains. "You said I don't have a temperature anymore and I'm hardly even coughing. School is starting next week. I at least want to go to the movies or Construct a Critter before then. And I need to start my violin lessons again."

Rick shrugs. "I don't know what to do here, Pumpkin. This is a new bug, but I can call the doctor and ask. He was supposed to be checking with the Center for Disease Control for any new details on precautions to take in overcoming this obstacle on your road to musical triumph."

When Rick hangs up the phone on his desk, he notices an alert to an email from Kate on the screen of his computer. He's dying to open it, but he has to give Alexis the good news first. She's free to leave the confines of the loft as long as she takes it easy. After her ordeal, creating a stuffed toy at Construct a Critter may be just what she needs to banish her ennui. While she's getting ready, he can revel in communication with Kate - and planning for some face to face - or closer - contact as soon as possible.

* * *

Dear Rick,

Minnie Rizzoli confessed. We had her anyway, and not just with the ballistics match for Mike's murder. When Detective McNulty checked out her fancy uptown condo - Rick, I think it cost more than your loft - they found a cache of other weapons. Several of them had been used for unsolved homicides. She will never see the light of day again, except to make trips back and forth to court. Her lawyer has been trying to negotiate a few privileges for her in exchange for her confession. It won't bring Mike back, but I'm hoping she's thrown in the darkest hole the corrections system can find.

We found Frank Moretti. Actually, an investigator for the Southern District of New York did since they have been working on cases against the family for years, they were able to figure out just how he sent Minnie her blood money and trace the transaction.

He was hiding out in a house in the Hamptons. Can you believe it! It's only a few miles from yours. The Morettis bought it years ago and have been using it as a family retreat. I suppose if they were politicians, like the Kennedys or the Bushes, they would call it a compound. When the FBI tracked him down, Frank was in the pool, skinny dipping. I can almost hear you saying, "That gives new meaning to being caught with your pants down." For the rest of his life, Frank can cover up in prison scrubs. We have him cold for the solicitation of the murder of a cop, and the U.S. Attorney has a ton of racketeering charges on top of that. The FBI will be using evidence they recovered from the Moretti's Hampton's hideout to go after other members of the family. They should be able to put an end to the freedom of a lot of them.

It looks like freedom is something you and Alexis should be getting pretty soon. From what you've told me so far, she sounds a lot better. I read the Nikki Heat chapters you sent me. They are wonderful. I think the book may be the best one you've written. But wrapping myself in your words is not the same as seeing you. I have a couple of days off in the middle of next week, and I'm crossing my fingers that we can see each other. I'm writing this on my break, and I'll call you when I'm off shift.

I miss your touch,

Kate


	37. Chapter 37

Stay in Touch

Chapter 37

Rick doesn't want to make it seem like he's hurrying his daughter out the door to the van that will take her to school, but he can't wait to clear the way for his time with Kate. He has everything ready: the pain au chocolate, the vanilla for her latte, even some thick hamburger patties and strawberry ice cream for a shake - if they make it to the kitchen. Right now, any emptiness inside him has nothing to do with food. It's a rent in his being that only Kate can fill.

He checks his watch. It's eight twenty and Kate said she'd be there around nine. He can inspect his bedroom one more time; make sure the coverlet is smooth and put out more of the cranberry-vanilla scented candles that she likes. The September weather has retained its summer warmth, but lighting the fireplace might enhance the atmosphere anyway.

He urges himself to take a breath. He's acting like it's his first time with Kate. Maybe it feels that way. The weeks they were apart couldn't have seemed more interminable, and he's wondering if things will be the same - minus the terror that a deadly killer is stalking Kate. Maybe he should prepare some fresh fruit to complement the pastry. Oranges go well with chocolate and more to the point, peeling them will give his hands something to do.

* * *

The sidewalk seems filled with more pedestrians than usual, keeping Kate from her usual rapid stride. She could have hailed a cab for the short trip to Rick's loft, but she wanted the walk to pull her thoughts together - hard to do when navigating through streams of people.

As a cop, her senses are always on alert, but they seem heightened this morning. She can tell that one passerby had at least two cigarettes with his coffee. Another one had an illegal if possibly healthier smoke. The flopping of sandals competes with the clicking of high heels against the sidewalk, punctuated by the occasional heavier tread of the steel-toed boots required in construction work. It's all there. The short distance between her apartment and Rick's loft is a microcosm of New York life, missing only one thing - Rick. She quickens her pace.

* * *

Shuffling his feet against the hardwood floor near the door, with the scent of oranges still clinging to his hands, Rick recognizes the rhythm of Kate's footsteps on the stairs and opens the door before she knocks.

They collide rather than embrace, as Rick kicks the door shut. Thrusting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, Kate rises on her toes to press her lips to his, soft, yielding, but unmistakably male.

Rick is like a starving man at a sumptuous buffet, hungry for everything before him, yet unsure what to sample first. Loosing one button on Kate's blouse exposes the enticing flesh beneath to his teeth and tongue, but there is so much more.

He scoops her up in his arms, her slim body seeming almost weightless, despite her height. As he lays her down on his carefully arranged bed, the spread wrinkles beneath her. He no longer cares about it, the candles, or the other accouterments of romance. There is Kate, only Kate, filling his vision and overwhelming his senses.

He strips away her clothes, even as the buttons on his shirt fly as she tears at his. Heat rises from bare skin, mingling into a mantle surrounding them as they rediscover each other's secrets and uncover new fascinations.

The hours of morning blur into afternoon until a rumble suddenly emanates from Kate's belly. She flushes as Rick grins. "Have no fear, I am fully prepared to answer the call of the wild Beckett."

* * *

Kate sighs as she sinks her teeth into her double burger, complete with pickles, brown mustard, ketchup, and banana peppers. "Wow, I needed this."

Rick dips a thick steak fry into a generous pool of ketchup. "I think we may have burned a month's worth of calories. I could write a new book - The Lover's Diet. You can eat anything you want. You just have to spend enough time making out to compensate. I bet it would be another best-seller."

"If you don't kill your readers."

"You may have a point, but I can't imagine a better death."

Kate glances down at her empty wrist. "What time is it?"

Rick checks the display on the oven. "Two."

"When does Alexis get home?"

"Usually around three. We have plenty of time to finish eating and maybe get in a little more exercise before she arrives."

"Rick, I think it might be better if I'm gone before she gets here."

"Why? She knows that we're friends. Why shouldn't we have a play date?"

"This is a lot more than a playdate. And the expression on your face! Even at her age, I would have known that we aren't having a scrabble tournament."

"Kate, I don't think it's any secret to anyone, including my daughter, that you and I care for each other. More than care for each other. Damn it, Kate, I love you! I want you to be with me, and sooner or later that's got to include times when my daughter is around."

Kate strokes his cheek. "Rick, I love you too. But I think we should give Alexis a little time to get used to me. At least half of my girlfriends when I was growing up had divorced parents, and whenever someone new, especially someone serious came into the picture, they were confused. They didn't know how to treat Mommy's boyfriend or Daddy's girlfriend. Sometimes they resented the intrusion and took it out on whatever parent was involved. I don't want to see that happen between you and Alexis. She and I can get to know each other, and we'll see how she reacts to my relationship with you."

Rick sinks in his chair. "I bow to your superior understanding of the young feminine mind. But I think we should start today. We have time to get ourselves together and maybe even begin a game of Scrabble, although I'd prefer Twister. Alexis can unload her day on me. The two of you can get acquainted, and we can see where we go from there."

"Deal," Kate agrees.

* * *

Alexis hurtles through the door with tears streaming down her face and runs into her father's arms. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

The youngster struggles to get her words out between sobs. "The music teacher, Mrs. Allister, told us that the music world had suffered a great loss. Daddy, it was my violin teacher, Mr. Fulton. Mrs. Allister said she wasn't sure what happened because the police weren't saying anything except that he was trying to save someone else, but he's dead."

Rick tucks her head beneath his chin as he holds her against the warming comfort of his body. "Baby, I am so sorry. I know how much he means to you."

As Kate silently regards the scene, the familiarity of the child's grief is almost overwhelming. She silently vows one thing. She is going to find out why Alexis' teacher died, and do the best she can to make things right again for the broken-hearted little girl.


	38. Chapter 38

Stay in Touch

Chapter 38

The investigation into Dylan Fulton's death was picked up by the 54th. Kate knows no one from that precinct except for Stan Holliwell, and she's not about to get any help from him. Unless - she had heard that one cop transferred from there, a Javier Esposito. She doesn't know much about him except that his former partner is under some kind of a cloud. They have that in common. She can make it her business to meet up with him, and decides to have a session in the gym before roll call. He might show up there, or in the break room. One way or another, she'll find a way to make contact.

Engineering an acquaintance with Esposito turns out to be easier than Kate had anticipated. A swaggering Hispanic man saunters in while she's working out on the heavy bag and immediately offers to give her some tips, dropping that he was special ops and trained to kill with his first blow because he wouldn't get another chance. Kate determines to show him just how lethal she can be on her own and almost knocks him over with a kick to the heavy bag he's steadying for her. He grins and introduces himself as Javi Esposito, adding that he admires a woman who can kick some ass. Kate ignores his obvious pass but identifies herself as well.

The watch commander assigns them both to crowd control for a rock star doing an environmental causes benefit at the waterfront. That will make for a long and footsore day, but at least she'll have a chance to build some kind of non-romantic comradery. It will be a start.

* * *

Esposito takes a healthy bite of a slice of double jalapeño pizza during the first break he and Kate Beckett have had all day. As hot as she is, she probably has a boyfriend. He can't think of another reason she wouldn't be interested in hooking up with him. He can ask around and find out - or maybe he can get it out of her himself. She's eating her salad with him and some of the other cops and seems open to talking, at least. In fact, she's asking about a case at the 54th.

Javi learned something about it that he can tell Kate when he talked to his buddy Demming after they'd had a sparring session the night before. Apparently, the victim, Dylan Fulton, had tried to intervene when a gang who had been assaulting and robbing victims who'd made recent visits to ATMs went after an old lady. The woman had one of those alert things, and a unit from the 54th got to the scene in time to save her, but Fulton bled out from knife wounds and died. Gangs is trying to round up the whole organization, so the N.Y.P.D. isn't giving much to the press.

Kate believes that Javi's account tracks with what little there has been in the media. Dylan Fulton was a hero. Alexis can be proud of him for that, but Kate knows from her own experience that isn't enough. For the girl to have closure, Dylan's killers must be brought to justice.

* * *

Rick regards Kate's Skype image on his computer screen. He'd rather talk to her in person, but she's doing a twelve-hour shift, and she still has two hours left after her break. At least she's giving him facts he can use to do some research. Robberies of ATM users are unfortunately not uncommon, especially with the long lines and charges for teller services at banks. Even so, it sounds like there's a pattern. He might be able to get some kind of a handle on it. It's worth a try. More than the information, he appreciates Kate wanting to do what she can for Alexis. If anything it makes him love her more.

He's been trying his best to lift Alexis out of the dumps. He made her favorite smiley face pancakes for breakfast, but she barely touched them. He's begun looking for another teacher for her, but musical prodigy, Juilliard graduate, would be Superman, Dylan Fulton was one of a kind. Rick suspects he was also Alexis' first crush, even if the handsome young man was careful not to encourage one. All of that adds up to some heavy duty heartbreak. Getting the bad guys won't be a cure, but Kate believes it will help, and she's in a better position than most to understand Alexis' anguish.

Rick has a recording session for a Derrick Storm audiobook in a couple of hours, but he has some time to spend at his keyboard first. Typing "ATM robberies in New York City" into Google yields over a million hits. Picking the right keywords to winnow things down isn't going to be easy, especially with minimal information being released to the Fourth Estate, but he has some other ideas. He has a consultant that he used for some of the private investigator aspects of Derrick Storm, an ex-cop with a pretty good pipeline into the department. If he can put him on the job, he may be able to add to what Kate's been able to pick up. For Alexis' sake, it's worth a shot.

* * *

Kate takes the elevator to Rick's loft. Most days she would take the stairs, but tonight she's bone-tired. Crowd control wasn't complicated, mostly keeping overenthusiastic teenagers from fighting for better positions to be close to their idols. A few adults were even more obnoxious, but they weren't too difficult to handle.

It was what came after the concert that was a problem. Traffic was a nightmare, and enterprising thieves decided to take advantage of the chaos to try to rip off food trucks and other vendors trying to return to their home bases.

She had worked well past twelve hours on duty by the time she put her last collar into holding. She would have loved to grab a hot bath in the old-fashioned tub in her apartment and maybe pair it with a glass of red wine but letting Alexis know that she's on the case is more important. And if she gets a chance to cuddle up to Rick after the little girl's in bed, that would be wonderful.

Alexis looks as worn down as Kate feels. There are shadows under the little girl's red-rimmed eyes, and her footsteps drag. There is a hint of an upturn in her lips when Kate tells her what she can about Dylan Fulton's heroics and how his saving the woman gave the police a chance to get clues to a lot of very bad people. Kate's speculations that Mr. Fulton may have saved more than one life are not at all beyond the realm of possibility.

By the time Alexis sips the extra rich hot chocolate Rick serves all around, she is beginning to nod off, and Rick carries her up to her room. When he returns, he and Kate settle onto the couch together. Kate lays her head on his shoulder. "How's she doing, Babe?"

"Better, thanks to you. I left her to get into her favorite pajamas - comfort in flannel. I'll check on her in a little while, but I think she'll sleep now. She can really use it. You look like you could too." He nuzzles the top of her head. "You could grab a little nap right here before you go back to your place."

Kate snuggles against his side, closing her eyes. "That sounds perfect."


	39. Chapter 39

Stay in Touch

Chapter 39

The watch commander calls Kate aside before roll call with the unfortunate news that one of Marica's Thigpen's, the officer Kate had been assigned to ride with after being released from the tyranny of her desk, children had been hurt in a traffic accident. Marica is taking indefinite leave to care for the little boy. Because of N.Y.P.D. staffing cutbacks, there's no other officer with appropriate experience and sufficient familiarity with the area, available to partner with Kate on patrol. On the basis of her weapons ratings, Kate's being detailed to Tactical. She'll be receiving some additional training, some of it on the job.

When Kate joins the tactical squad, she discovers that her sniper instruction will be coming from none other than Javier Esposito. As pleased as she is to have at least an indirect source for anything coming out of the investigation into the death of Dylan Fulton, she's wary of the situation. By the time she'd finished her salad the day before, Javi had stopped hitting on her, but having brushed off his advances could make things a little uncomfortable.

She doesn't have much time to find out. The squad is activated. As the new cop on the block, she will mostly be distributing equipment and even making coffee runs as necessary, but she's making mental notes of everything she see and hears.

There's a hostage situation, which has put the negotiating team, led by a Captain Petersen, at the scene as well. From the rumblings she hears from her squad, the man can be an arrogant jackass, but usually gets the job done. When he doesn't, it's up to Kate's comrades to move in and take over.

* * *

Rick sets up a meeting with Manfred Lynch at _Mittagessen,_ home of the best of the _wurst_. The detective attacks his meal with a gusto to which Rick has become accustomed over the years. They finally get down to business over coffee and sweet, flaky strudel. Lynch strokes his increasingly shiny bald pate. "The ATM robberies. Yes, I've heard about them. The reason that Gangs is so concerned is that they seem to be a joint effort between the Latin Boys and a newer organization, the _Jefes_. The gang members are staking out ATMs all over the city, but apparently, rotating their muggings on what looks to be a random basis, which makes it impossible for the patrols in the area to keep an eye on them. That's why that poor guy, Fulton died. The nearest unit was conducting surveillance at the wrong location."

"There's no pattern at all?" Rick questions.

"So far none that anyone's been able to figure out. The detectives at the 54th squeezed the two guys they picked up when Fulton was killed, but neither of them had an idea why they were at that particular ATM. They're organized in pairs, and each pair gets texted an assignment. Tech checked their phones. The messages came from a burner - untraceable."

"Is there a list of ATM's where victims have been hit?" Rick asks.

"Not one that's for release to the public or the press, but the crimes themselves are a matter of public record. It could be a hell of a job, but someone could dig them up."

Rick nods. "Someone will."

* * *

Rick scans through the list of subscription databases. There are a couple relating to the law that are clearly intended for lawyers. But there is another one that lists court filings, better for use by investigators and even curious writers. It's expensive, but Rick doesn't give a damn about the money. If he can figure out something about the scheme that led to Dylan Fulton's death, it will be worth it. He wishes that he knew more about the legal terms that would make his search more effective. Kate should be able to help with that. He's just hoping that she can make it to the loft that night.

* * *

Tactical's duties entail extended waits on full alert, a condition which is simultaneously exhausting and boring. Evidently, Petersen is on his game, or the suspects aren't very bright. He lures them out with the promise of a helicopter to take them to a ship waiting in international waters. The aircraft is real enough, landing in the parking lot of the building under siege, but it takes off, allowing the tactical team to move in and surround the perpetrators. The crisis is over without anyone firing a shot.

Kate accompanies some of her new comrades, including Javi, out to celebrate. She can tell that as much affection as he and some of the other men seem to have for the metallic expressions of their manhoods, they seem to be universally relieved that employing them that day was unnecessary. Kate couldn't have been happier with the outcome herself, except that she's gained no more information regarding the death of Dylan Fulton.

It's past seven when the gathering breaks up, and she's not sure about going to the loft, but she wants to see Rick and find out how Alexis is doing. Kate's grief had always come in waves. She'd feel all right for a while, especially if she was distracted, but then the darkness would descend again like a smothering fog. She hates the thought of Rick's little girl suffering through that kind of agony.

When she reaches the Castle home, she can hear violin music coming through the door. Alexis is playing the favorite piece that Fulton taught her. Rick whispers in Kate's ear that he's relieved to see Alexis with her fingers on the strings again because she seems to feel closer to her slain teacher while she plays. It reminds Kate of how she read Rick's books because her mother loved them, but she doesn't have much opportunity to wallow in that remembrance.

Rick motions her into his office and points to the screen. "I've been searching for the filings for the ATM robberies. I know they have to be there somewhere, but I haven't been asking the right questions."

Kate inclines her head toward his chair. "You want me to give it a try?"

"Please."

Kate seats herself in front of Rick's computer and starts entering keywords for her query. Documents jump to the screen. "This is the one for the perps picked up when Fulton was killed. It's a felony homicide because his death took place during the commission of a crime. I just needed to put in the legalese."

She brings up a list of other hits. "These are assaults related to thefts of money." They scan through documents together, with Rick taking notes of which attacks took place after the victims left ATMs, and where.

He shakes his head. "It's like Manfred, my source, said. They're all over the place. But there must be some kind of pattern that gives the thieves the best chance of eluding capture, maybe something with the addresses."

"Or the patrol routes of the units in the area," Kate suggests.

"That kind of analysis is not exactly my strong point," Rick admits. "But I think I know someone who might be able to make some sense out of all of this - if I can get his attention. I used him a couple of times when I was writing about what analysts at the CIA were able to pick up about Derrick Storm's missions, but he only agrees to work on what interests him. He used game theory to score a killing on Wall Street, years ago, and now he just does whatever he wants. Let's just hope he wants to work on this."

A/N I have a new The Rookie one-shot called The Fallen. It takes place after "Heartbreak."


	40. Chapter 40

Stay in Touch

Chapter 40

Guy Strecker reties the bandana that is keeping his scraggly locks out of his eyes. "An unpredictable pattern of robberies, Rick? No pattern is unpredictable. Even random number generators have a bias. That's why the keys they produce have to be so damn long. It adds to the time it takes to crack them."

Rick knows better than to make physical contact, something guy strongly resists and just nods. "Exactly why I came to you. I need someone to figure out the key, and you're the best."

"At least the best on this continent. I've been in touch with a grad student in India, and he's amazing. He came up with an algorithm I never thought of. He's in the process of making a deal with Tata. When he does, our web weavers over here better watch their asses. But what's so important? You don't get those lines by your nose when you're pushing me for information for your books."

Rick reflexively touches the area Guy mentioned. "This is personal. The murder victim was very dear to Alexis."

"The mini-pumpkin? I like her. She understands the true genius of pop-up books."

Rick suppresses the urge to confess that Alexis long-ago moved onto more compressed forms of literature. "Right now the pumpkin is feeling like she's been carved up. The police are up against a brick wall. The only person who can put a hole in it is you."

"Personally, I'm not crazy about helping the N.Y.P.D. They hassle me all the time because they think I don't belong in my own neighborhood. The cops even arrested me for walking into my own house because they couldn't believe I owned the place and thought my I.D. was fake. They had to match my fingerprints before they would let me go."

"I hope they apologized."

"Sure, but I was supposed to be online conferencing with some of the crew at CERN. I missed Tim. I had to call him in England. It screwed up my whole week."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I have a very close friend on the force who is helping me with this."

Guy smirks. "Close friend. From the size of your pupils, I'd say female, and you're sleeping with her."

Rick reddens. "Right on both counts, but she really cares about Alexis. So will you develop the algorithm or whatever it takes to work this thing out?"

"Not for the cops, but for the mini-pumpkin. I need to schedule some time on my super-computer for simulations. I'll let you know when I have something."

* * *

Kate is finding Esposito to be a surprisingly good teacher, and she has a lot to learn about the characteristics of specialty ammunition, calculating the effects of wind speed and even sensing her own heart rate so that she can shoot between beats. She's hoping that she'll never have to use what she learns. Taking down a criminal who is aiming a gun at her or some innocent too close to the action is one thing. Aiming a long range weapon with the express purpose of killing someone, even if that person is an extreme danger to hostages or all the people around him, is something else. She'll have to put a lid on her own adrenaline, to assure the precision and accuracy she will need because if she misses, her target can take out more victims.

Fortunately, Tactical hasn't been called out that day. To her, it seems a little like being a member of the fire department. They've all signed up to fight disaster, but they're hoping there won't be one to defeat.

When Esposito declares that it's time for a break, she has a chance to call Rick, who reports that his mathematical genius friend is in on solving the mysteries of the ATM robberies. There's something in his voice when he brushes aside her request to meet the man, that tells her it wouldn't be smart to ask again. Rick does sound more enthusiastic when he suggests she join him and Alexis for dinner that night if she's able to make it. He explains that he does an oven fried chicken that's a favorite with Alexis, and his daughter's finally in the mood to enjoy it.

Esposito seems more than happy to call it quits the minute their shift ends. Kate overheard him saying something to one of the men on the squad about "stripper" and "all the right moves." She suspects he's very much looking forward to his evening. She's looking forward to hers.

* * *

Up to that point, Kate's usually enjoyed the chicken that comes out of a bucket more than anything from a home oven. She can happily do without the grease, but not the crunch. Rick appears to have solved that problem. Alexis polishes off her second drumstick while Kate is finishing a generous breast. Rick whispers that his secret is cornflake crumbs and promises to give her the details later. Delicious as the bird is, she can think of things she'd rather do once Alexis is in bed for the night. Until then, she and Rick decide to watch a movie while Alexis finishes her homework and practices her violin.

Usually, both Kate and Rick are fans of action films, but after exploring the ins and outs of calculated termination all day, she'd prefer to go for something else. For the fun of it, the couple agrees on an awful movie, hosted by puppet robots who take joy in heckling it. Rick pours root beer and makes popcorn to throw at the screen, and they settle on pillows on the floor to watch the events unfold.

Kate sighs as the movie ends with Santa Claus bringing joy to the children of Mars. "I wish things could be that easy."

"Maybe the N.Y.P.D. should hire Santa Claus," Rick suggests. "If an elf can conquer a whole planet, a city should be a breeze."

Kate shakes her head. "Even if Santa wasn't a character out of a poem and old Coca Cola® ads, the department isn't hiring anyone. The budget's been cut. That's why I'm in Tactical instead of on patrol."

"And I get the feeling you're not exactly overjoyed with your sniper training."

"Espo's fine, and I'm sure when he was in the military, his skill saved a lot of lives, but I want to try to resolve situations hands-on, not learn to shoot someone from miles away. I don't have that kind of chill in my veins. It doesn't feel right."

You don't have to convince me of the heat that circulates in your blood. I've experienced it firsthand. And I'm very much looking forward to doing so again - as soon as possible."

Kate trails her fingertip down Rick's chest. "Do you think Alexis is asleep yet?"

He pushes himself off the floor grinning. "Easy enough to find out."

Slipping out of their shoes to make as little noise as possible, Rick and Kate head for the stairway to the upper level of the loft. With Kate behind him, Rick peers in the door of Alexis' room. Despite what Guy Strecker might imagine, she's well past the age for pop-up books, but she's still curled around what's left of Monkey Bunky.

Rick prefers to curl himself around something that curls back. He offers his hand to Kate. Fingers interlaced, they make their way to his bedroom.

A/N In case you missed it, I posted another one-shot The Rookie story called "For the Fallen." It starts the morning after "Heartbreak."


	41. Chapter 41

Stay in Touch

Chapter 41

The tempting aroma of popcorn still surrounds Rick and Kate as she lowers herself to the bed. He stares down at her for a moment without moving. She unfastens the top buttons of her blouse, revealing a bra with a lacy border, incongruous with her hard-edged studies with Esposito.

Rick releases the front clasp, trailing gentle kisses through the cleft between enticing globes. She shoves her hands beneath his shirt, stroking the rapidly heating skin of his back. Their lips meet in a salty joining. His palms trace the curves of her body before tugging away the fabric that bars his access to her bare skin.

Unsnapping his jeans, her deft fingers explore the rapid expansion beneath, freeing it from confinement. The breath is forced from his lungs at her caress, and he jerks her tightly against him, his hardness begging entrance to her need. He reaches for the center of her arousal, firming and growing beneath his touch. A moan escapes her throat as she arches toward him, desperate to be filled. She is steamy satin, beckoning him within.

Sweat soaks their bodies as they roll in the tangling bed coverings. Kate grasps his head, pulling his mouth to hers again, her tongue seeking its mate. Her hips rise as her legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper within.

The quake comes without a foreshock, almost thrusting them apart. Kate's calves stubbornly embrace Rick through the aftershocks as their mouths meld and his hands bury themselves in her hair. Spent, they lay side by side, relearning how to breathe.

Kate can see the city lights reflecting off the ceiling of Rick's bedroom. She reaches for her blouse, hanging halfway off the bed. "I should go."

"I wish you didn't have to."

Kate pushes still damp locks back from his forehead. "We agreed that we'd get Alexis gradually used to me being around. I don't think having me wake up with her father qualifies."

"You're right," Rick agrees, "but seeing you when I opened my eyes in the Hamptons was - beyond description, even for the wordsmith I am. I want that to be how every one of my days begins."

Kate cradles his roughening cheek. "We'll work it out. And I'll call you in the morning."

Rick reaches up for a last kiss. "I'll be counting the minutes."

* * *

Guy Strecker downs his fourth Mountain Dew and stares at his computer screen. He's entered every variable he could find about the ATMs where the recent robberies had taken place, from the serial numbers of the machines to the names of the streets. No pattern he could discern has emerged. It's as if the gangs were picking their targets out of a hat. Whoa! Could it be that simple? If that's the case, his unique version of a Monte Carlo simulation should eventually yield results similar to the recorded robberies. So far, there haven't been any repeats. Once an ATM was out of the running, it appeared to stay that way. So he can eliminate all the previous targets from future predictions. There might be additional factors. He can look for them, but he is getting somewhere in coming through for the mini-pumpkin.

That reminds him that by his calculations, the stores and coffee shops should be starting to push pumpkin-spice-everything the next morning. He groans. He wouldn't mind so much if they got the mix right, but there's always too much allspice and not enough cloves. It throws the balance of volatiles way off. He'll just have to keep away until after New Year's.

It doesn't matter. He prefers to stay in and have everything delivered anyway. That way no one hassles him, and he doesn't have to worry about fitting anything into his work schedule. He wouldn't mind having some bacon brownies though, and the bakery that makes those doesn't deliver. When he has the results for Rick, he'll make the fudgy nirvana part of the trade.

* * *

Kate's scent is still on the pillow next to Rick, even if her head isn't. He pushes his face into it, inhaling deeply. Breathing a little Kate is better than nothing but still a poor substitute for her presence. He checks the time on his phone. He can catch a shower before he needs to get Alexis ready for school. Not that she can't do most of that herself, but he enjoys cooking breakfast for her and hearing about her schedule for the day. And occasionally she still needs his help with the more stubborn knots in her hair.

The hot water pelting his body finds a few bruises he hadn't had the day before. But he's far from complaining, being caught up in storm Beckett is more than worth a few tender spots. He can't think of anything he'd change about Kate - except her absence. He'll find a way to fix that without upsetting his daughter. He has to.

Rick towels off and rechecks the time. There's enough of it to make pancakes or better yet, waffles - with bananas, nuts and a healthy topping of whipped cream, the real stuff, without the extra sugar. If he uses whole wheat flour and extra eggs, it will be the ultimate parental sneak of extra nutrition into Alexis' morning. And he won't mind the boost himself, to get him through crafting his next chapter while he waits for word from Guy Strecker.

* * *

Kate's been put in charge of inventorying all the tactical gear. It's unlikely that a member of the squad would ever misplace a gun. They become extensions of their bodies. But vests, masks, shields, and miscellaneous hardware have been known to be snatched by gremlins from time to time, or so the team claims. There is a computer database for the equipment, but the installation of updates on the operating system on the machine that holds it is behind. That's something she has to fix.

Waiting for downloads and reboots is boring as hell, but at least it gives Kate a chance to talk to Rick. She can hear the excitement in his voice when he answers her call. "I got an email from my math guy. Actually, his name is Guy. But anyway, he claims he's on the trail of something. I didn't understand most of what he said about simulations and probabilities, but he thinks he should have something soon.

"He sleeps most of the day, and I thought I'd see him this evening bringing the appropriate sugar-laden bribe - and Alexis. They understand each other. Obsessions with math and music are supposed to be related. I read that Einstein never went anywhere without his violin. But I thought maybe if you wanted to come over later…"

"That should work out," Kate responds. "I was going to have dinner with my father, anyway. He's been doing a lot better with his practice and everything since we put Bracken and Coonan away, but I still want to check in with him."

"Of course. Give him my regards, but see you later? Eightish?"

"Sounds good."

Jim Beckett catches sight of his daughter when she enters the diner that's become their favorite meeting place. She has a glow that he can't remember seeing before, not even when she bought her Harley. Kate's in love. It has to be with Rick Castle. Kate's never had anyone she's been that serious about in her life before. The writer had better not hurt his little girl. Jim still remembers how to swing a Louisville Slugger.


	42. Chapter 42

Stay in Touch

Chapter 42

Jim Beckett points to a tall glass and a metal container on the Formica-topped table. I ordered your shake. I wasn't sure what else you'd want."

Kate closes her eyes, taking a deep draw on her oversized straw. "Thanks, Dad. This is great." A waitress, with Maisie embroidered on her starched uniform, bustles over as Kate studies the menu, and smiles at Jim. "The cook's got your steak queued up, Honey." She turns to Kate. "And what's your pleasure, Hon?"

"Chili size, steak fries, and a side salad."

"Hungry," Jim notes as Maisie hurries away. "You must be using a lot of energy these days. Is your tactical training physically challenging?"

Kate flushes, remembering Rick's comments on burning calories. "It can be. Running in all that protective gear is like having weights on both ankles and around my waist, but today it was just desk work. I'd rather be in the field."

Jim nods. "I know you would. My Katie was always chasing after something, although I get the feeling that a certain best-selling author has been chasing after you. Did he catch you?"

Kate takes another long sip of her shake. "I guess we caught each other. I love him, Dad, and he says he loves me."

"So now what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Katie, I mean where is your relationship going? Before now, you always dropped guys before things got serious. So what are you and Castle planning to do?"

"It's complicated, Dad. He has a daughter, and I don't want to come between them. So we're taking it day by day."

"Who's idea was that, yours or his?"

Kate shoves her hair out of her face. "Mine."

Jim winces at the bitterness as he takes a sip from a mug of black coffee. "Look, Katie-girl, your relationship with Castle has been crawling along for years. First, it was just the books; then it was letters. I know why you put things on hold. You did it for both of us while you were finding justice for your mother. But you've done that now, and my life is moving forward. Yours should be too. It's time to figure out what you want and do what it takes to get there. The world can come crashing in and steal a life in a flash. We both know that too well. If you and Castle are in love, you should take advantage of every second you can be together."

Kate is grateful for the distraction when Maisie plops huge platters in front of her and her father. "Let me know when you're ready for dessert. The apple pie is fresh, and you can have it à la mode or with warm cream."

"You don't get off that easy," Jim warns as Maisie leaves them and Kate immediately digs into her chili. "You need to talk to Castle."

Kate dabs at a drop of sauce on her lips and twists her napkin. "I know, Dad. I will."

* * *

Alexis bounces on her toes when Kate arrives at the loft. "Officer Beckett, Mr. Strecker is helping find out who killed Mr. Fulton. He ate all the brownies." She points to a printout Rick is holding. "But he gave that to Daddy."

Kate holds out her hand. "Is that the pattern of the robberies?"

Rick gives her the sheet of paper. "According to Guy, it's a predictive algorithm. It gives the likelihood of the various ATMs in the target area being hit. He couldn't tell us which one would be next."

Kate studies the numbers on the page. "But it should be enough to tell the brass where to concentrate patrols. Now I have to figure out how to get it to the right person."

Rick wiggles his eyebrows. "Oh, I think our friendly neighborhood leading candidate for mayor should be able to help you with that."

Kate winks. "I bet he can."

After tucking Alexis in, Rick returns to the kitchen where Kate is pouring glasses of red wine. "Asleep before her head hit the pillow. She isn't even clinging to Monkey Bunky."

Kate hands him a goblet. "That's great!"

"So why aren't you smiling?"

Kate perches on a stool at the counter. "Something my Dad said. He thinks I'm dragging my feet - with you."

"And what do you think?"

"I think I was right not to give Alexis more than she could handle, but she seems to be comfortable with me being here now."

"Kate, she's more than comfortable with you being here. She's grateful about what you're doing to help find Mr. Fulton's killer. And she knows I like you. That's two giant gold stars. So when do you stop scuffing up the hardwood?"

"I don't know, Rick. Liking me is a lot different than accepting me as your girlfriend."

"And what if you were more than my girlfriend?"

"You mean if we were living together? Rick that would be even more confusing."

"There's one way it wouldn't be confusing at all. Husbands and wives are supposed to live together, Kate."

Kate's mouth falls open. "Rick, are you proposing?"

Rick reaches into his pocket before getting down on one knee. "I should do this right." He holds up a ring. "Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?"

Kate gapes at the diamond encircled by tiny rubies, amethysts, and emeralds. "Rick that's…"

" The rubies are for strawberries; the amethysts are for the purple you love; the emeralds are the color of your eyes when we make love - and the diamond is forever. But if you don't like it, I can have the jeweler change out the stones or even exchange it for another one."

Kate swallows the tears in her throat. "No, it's perfect. I just didn't think. I didn't think you were thinking."

"That I want to be with you for the rest of my life? Kate, I was pretty sure about that the day I signed your book. I just didn't see how it could be possible. You were young and drowning in grief. So I settled for a pen pal. But now with Bracken and Coonan in jail, you're a woman who no longer needs the protection of the walls she erected around her heart. If Alexis is the last obstacle, then there shouldn't be anything else in our way. But all that depends on whether you want to spend your life with me."

"And you won't mind being married to a cop?"

"Butcher, baker, candlestick maker, I don't care, as long as your face is the last thing I see when I close my eyes at night and the first one when I open them in the morning."

Kate swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Then Richard Castle, I will marry you."

Rick slips the ring on her finger and presses a kiss into her palm before rising to his feet. Kate frames his face in her hands. "I need much more than that."

Their lips come together, gently at first, but wild and questing as passion holds them in its grip. They ease toward the bedroom together, unwilling to let go of each other. In silent agreement they drop to the bed, still locked in an embrace. There are no walls, no barriers, only the flaring heat that surrounds them as their bodies join in love.


	43. Chapter 43

Stay in Touch

Chapter 43

"You're not leaving yet are you?" Rick groans as Kate climbs out of bed and begins gathering her clothes.

Kate comes back to grab a kiss. "I have to. I'm due on the shooting range at 6 a.m. Qualification for tactical is more demanding than for a patrol officer, and Esposito is going to be overseeing my every shot."

"I wish you could go back on patrol."

"So do I. The streets are where the real police work is. And I hope Marica's kid recovers soon. I'll give her a call when I get a chance and find out how things are going. But in the meantime, this is what I have to do."

"At least let me make you some coffee."

Kate cups his cheek. "Offer accepted."

* * *

Esposito's eyes widen at the sight of Kate's left hand. "That's some rock! You and writer boy?"

"Rick and I are engaged if that's what you mean."

"Man, I knew writers like him can make a fortune, but he must be rolling in it!"

Kate turns, her eyes as steely as the barrel of her gun. "Javi, let's get one thing straight. Rick could be making minimum wage at a big box store. I wouldn't care. He's kind, understanding, brilliant - and he gets me. I would have been happy if he'd given me a ring from a Crackerjacks box." She gazes down at her finger. "But it is sweet."

"Sweet or not," Esposito declares, "You can't wear it on the range. You can't afford to have anything compromise your grip. You can't wear it on duty, either."

Kate sighs and slips the ring into her pocket, securely snapping a flap over it. I know. I'm going to get a chain to put it around my neck. I just haven't had time yet. Rick just gave it to me last night."

"Yeah? Then you need an engagement celebration, right? I bet Castle could spring for a real bash."

Kate shrugs. "I haven't even thought about it. I don't think Rick has either. We had our minds on other things."

Javi smirks. "I bet."

Kate grabs her rifle. Her score is going to wipe that look off Esposito's face.

* * *

Weldon gazes down at the figure laden pages. "Rick, what is this?"

"It's an algorithm for predicting the most likely targets of the gangs robbing ATM customers. They killed Alexis' violin teacher, Bob. They need to be taken down."

"And what am I supposed to do with this? I'm not the mayor yet."

"We both know you're a shoo-in come November and you've put pressure on the Commissioner before. He got credit for taking down a corrupt monster. He owes you and should be willing to listen again."

"He might, but if this doesn't work, I'll have egg all over my face less than two months before the election."

Rick snorts. "It's not as if anything is working now. Those assholes are continuing to rip people off. Sooner or later someone else is going to die. How would you feel if you let that happen because you're afraid you might be embarrassed? Besides, it will work. It's from Strecker."

"Your pet weirdo?"

"I admit that he's a little unconventional, but has there ever been a genius that wasn't? I heard that Tesla used to run down the hall flapping the tails of his coat and Feynman used to drive around with diagrams of quark interactions all over his van. Strecker may not be at that level, but he becomes one with computers."

"Geez, Rick, that's hardly an endorsement. But you're right. If these robberies go on long enough, especially if someone else gets killed, the commissioner is going to have a real PR problem on his hands. All right. I'll pass this on, but next time I need celebrities at a campaign function, I expect you to be in the front row."

Rick holds out his hand. "Deal."

* * *

"Aren't you eating, Daddy?" Alexis asks as she bites into a hotdog.

Rick shakes his head. Officer Beckett's coming over later. We have some things to discuss, so we're going to eat together."

"Because you're going to marry her like you told me this morning?"

He nods. "That, and because we have things to talk about anyway. I want to tell her that the N.Y.P.D. will be using Mr. Strecker's algorithm to help capture the people who were behind what killed Mr. Fulton."

"Are they going to catch them tomorrow?"

Rick presses a gentle kiss to his daughter's hair. "It may take a little longer than that, Pumpkin, but hopefully it will be soon."

"Is a judge going to put them in jail?"

Rick wipes a spatter of mustard from the counter. "That's the plan."

* * *

Kate fingers the chain on which she'd worn her mother's wedding ring. She'd put them both away when she caught Bracken. The silver links are too delicate to support Kate's engagement ring. And even if they could, she doesn't want the sadness of the past casting a shadow on the promise of the future. She closes her wooden keepsake box. She'll get a new chain. She's sure Rick would be glad to spring for one, probably worth more than she could afford, but she wants to buy one herself. The corners of her mouth twitch. Rick brought the peanut butter; she can get the jelly. She'll be going to the loft for a late supper, but she has a little time in between, and there's a jewelry store on the way.

* * *

Feldman's shop has been a fixture in the neighborhood for decades. When what are now fashionable loft developments were still industrial buildings, he sold inexpensive trinkets for the workers to bring home to their mothers, sisters, and wives. As the area gentrified, he added more upscale items. He still has jewelry affordable to the service people; doormen, cooks, cleaning staff, but also much more expensive merchandise for the well-to-do. When the tall, willowy woman enters his store, he's not sure what category she falls into. Her hair merely flows over her shoulders, not in a $300 cut that would be rendered by a stylist. Her clothes are off the rack, but her heels are well made and Italian. He understands when he recognizes the ring on her finger. He set the stones himself. She's the fiancée of Richard Castle, a man of excellent taste and usually an open wallet.

A grin splits Feldman's face. "What can I do for you, young lady?"

Kate has little time to explain as two men brandishing pistols burst in behind her and order her and Feldman to lie on the floor. They smash display cases indiscriminately gathering up the contents. Kate can feel her off-duty weapon in its holster against her ankle. The dumbass intruders are so oblivious they didn't even notice her ring. She just needs a chance to make her move without endangering Feldman or herself. She gets her opportunity when one of the thieves cuts his wrist on broken glass while he's reaching for a pearl necklace. He screams for his partner to help him as blood spurts from the wound. With sweeps of her legs, she takes the two bandits down and points her own weapon.

"Lady, you gotta get me a doctor," the bleeding perp begs. "I could be dyin' here."

Kate nods toward Feldman. "Call 911. The EMTs can fix him up enough so he can land in a holding cell at the 12th Precinct.

Two marked units arrive in tandem with the paramedics. Kate knows all four cops. "Tactical too tame for you, Beckett?" Officer Sheldon quips.

Kate rolls her eyes. "Uh huh. You got these two? I still have some business here."

When the store is empty again, Feldman leans over what's left of the counter, toward Kate. "So what can I get for you, Officer? After what you did, I can make you a great deal."

Kate shakes her head. "Cops aren't allowed to accept gratuities. But if you'll show me some chains, I'd appreciate it."

Feldman goes to the back room, unentered by the intruders, and retrieves the best that he has, smiling to himself. Maybe he can also sell the happy couple some wedding rings.


	44. Chapter 44

Stay in Touch

Chapter 44

Rick opens his arms and hugs Kate to his chest. "Thank you for calling. You were late, and I heard the sirens…"

"Hey, I'm fine. And Mr. Feldman's fine too. He was angling to provide us with our wedding rings.

"Yeah, he said something about that when I bought your engagement ring, but I wasn't sure what you'd like."

Kate shrugs. "I've got time to figure it out."

"How much time? We never did discuss setting a date."

"I'd like to be back on patrol first, see how things are working out. When I called Marica, she said the doctors finished Chris' last surgery, and she should be back on the job soon. But I promise I won't put it off very long."

"Speaking of putting things off. You must be starving. I put the lasagna back in the oven to keep it warm. And the wine has had more than enough time to breathe."

"Sounds fantastic."

Rick lights the white taper he's stuck in a straw-wrapped Chianti bottle in the middle of the table, and fills the wine goblets, before dishing out the layered pasta.

Kate digs in hungrily, swallowing a large bite before she begins to talk. "It's funny. On TV and in books, even some of yours, crooks are smart - except for gloating about all their plans to the hero before they try unsuccessfully to kill him. But so many criminals are not very bright, like the two guys who tried to rob Feldman. They had no masks. They would have been caught on the surveillance camera he has in plain sight by the entrance. They had almost no idea what to steal. Apparently, he keeps most of the good stuff in the back. They never even checked it out. And one of them accidentally slit his wrist."

"Just as well," Rick suggests. "If they were brilliant, they'd be a lot harder to catch. Even the scheme the gangs thought up to rob the ATMs has been giving the N.Y.P.D. a run for its money. But hopefully, their run of luck will be ending soon."

"So Bob Weldon agreed to help?"

"Uh huh. He'll be presenting Guy's masterpiece of calculation to the commissioner, and hopefully, the N.Y.P.D.'s computer people will be able to implement his program and put cops in the right places."

"That would be a reason to celebrate. Actually, Esposito believes we already have one. He thinks you and I should be throwing an engagement party."

"To which, of course, he'd be expecting an invitation. His interpretation of an apple for the teacher?"

"I think he'd rather have a beer."

Rick forks up a bit of saucy cheese. "You know, a bash isn't a bad idea. You could invite your comrades in arms - and I could make it very clear that I'm the lucky guy who has captured your affections."

"Rick, are you jealous of Esposito? You weren't jealous of Mike."

"I would have been if I thought he was trying to make a move on you. And the way you've described Esposito, you seem the type he lusts after - stunning in every sense of the word."

"If he is lusting, that's all he's going to do, or he'll lose a couple of fingers. So are you up for hosting an event?"

"Yeah. Sure. Esposito can experience just how futile his attempts to distract my beautiful bride to be are."

* * *

Officer Carl Sheldon takes a sip from a container of cold coffee. "You think they'll show up?" Officer Laurie Needham asks.

"Don't know. But the word is that setting up surveillance this way came straight from the commissioner. Ours is not to question why."

Laurie points through the windshield of the unit. "I think the man must have good instincts. Look!"

Carl can just make out two men crouching in the shadows beside a building adjacent to the bank. He thumbs a control on his radio. "Suspects spotted position three. Request deployment of decoy."

A few minutes later a female cop in plain clothes, sensible shoes, and a salt and pepper wig arrives and inserts her card in the ATM. She carefully counts the wad of cash that emerges before walking away with a slight limp."

"Don't you think Nussbaum is laying it on a little thick?" Laurie wonders.

"Looks like it's working," Carl responds pushing on the handle of his door. "The suspects are heading right for her."

One of the gang members snaps open a knife. "We'll take that, _anciana_."

"Not that old," Nussbaum retorts, kicking the knife out of her attacker's hand as Sheldon and Needham approach, guns drawn.

"Down on the ground, hands behind your head," Carl orders.

Needham snaps on the cuffs. "Score two for the commissioner."

* * *

Alexis' eyes sparkle. "Did the police really get all of them, Kate?"

"I really think they did," Kate confirms. "After our people caught the first two using Mr. Strecker's work, it kept getting easier to figure where others would try to rob someone. The men they caught today were the ones in charge. They swore they had no more guys to send out to rob anyone, and they knew they'd be in jail even longer if they lied." Kate regards Alexis' lime green party dress and patent leather flats. "You look lovely. You'll be the star of the party."

Alexis smooths the shiny fabric. "Gram helped me pick everything out. She took me shopping as soon as she came home from doing her play. I wish she hadn't had to leave again so soon, but she promised she'd be back for Thanksgiving. She said I'd be the belle of the ball. I'm not sure what that means."

"It means you'll be the prettiest girl at the party."

"Except for you. Daddy said I could stay up an extra hour so I'd get a chance to listen to the karaoke. He's good at it. Are you going to sing too?"

"I might. I don't like to sing in front of a lot of people. It makes me a little nervous."

"You shouldn't be afraid. I heard you singing with Daddy in the kitchen. It sounded nice. The two of you could sing together. Then you wouldn't be scared."

"You're pretty smart, you know?"

"Uh huh. I get all "A"s except for that one time Tommy London stole my pencil during a test. But the teacher let me take it over and made him do extra homework for a week."

Rick claps his hands together when the doorbell rings. "Our guests are arriving. Time to get the party started."

A swarm of the 12th Precinct's finest descend on a buffet supplied by a caterer, before taking seats at tables set up around the great room of the loft. When all the guests are well into downing meatballs and miniature pizzas, Rick grabs the wireless mike from the karaoke system he rented for the evening. "We are here to celebrate the triumph of the N.Y.P.D. in removing dangerous gangs from the streets and my even greater triumph in convincing the most incredible woman I have ever met, to agree to be my wife. Now, while you are all eating, drinking and making merry, who will be the first to showcase his or her vocal talents? I have songs from the 70s to the current Billboard hits, so whatever your pleasure, don't be shy."

Esposito swaggers up to take the microphone from Rick. "I can take it from here, Bro. Get ready to be blown away."


	45. Chapter 45

Stay in Touch

Chapter 45

Esposito scans through the available song choices until with a smug grin he announces he'll be performing "Living the Vida Loca." "The poor man's Ricky Martin," Rick whispers to Kate, as Javi begins to prance up and down the room.

Kate rolls her eyes. "He'd have to grow a couple of inches and lose a few years, but he's not bad."

"So how do you feel about giving him some competition?" Rick asks. "Alexis told me we sounded good when we were singing in the kitchen."

"She told me the same thing. So do you have I Got You, Babe? It's almost our theme song, but it's from the '60s."

"Wouldn't be a playlist without it."

Kate pulls out the barrette holding up her hair and gives it a test flip in her best imitation of Cher, while Rick finger combs his thick locks over his forehead for a look more like pre-Congress Sonny Bono. He gives Kate's hand an encouraging squeeze before they take the microphone from Esposito.

Kate wishes that she had the furry vest and high boots that her mother kept in the back of her closet, but she does her best to strike a Cher pose, allowing one hand to drop downward from the wrist and placing the other one on her hip. As the music comes up, she starts hesitantly but gains confidence, her alto voice capturing Cher's tone perfectly. Rick has more body to his voice singing baritone than tenor, but he manages to do more than a passable Sonny. When they join hands as Rick sings "So put your little hand in mine," the audience begins to applaud, and at the end of the song, they saunter back to their table self-satisfied.

Rick can see his daughter starting to nod off and whispers to Kate that he's going to put Alexis to bed. The little girl snuggles against him as he carries her upstairs. "Is Kate going to stay with us tonight, Daddy? It's more fun when she's here, and you always look happier."

"I'll have to ask her. But I think she might."

"What are you grinning about?" Kate asks when Rick returns downstairs. "Did Alexis tell you a bedtime story?"

Rick puts his arm around Kate's shoulders and draws her close. "Best story I ever heard."

* * *

Rick's awakened to Kate at his side for two weeks, but when he opens his eyes, he sees her heading for the shower. "Want to get an early start on your first day back on patrol with Marica?"

"Uh huh. But if you'd like to save water by joining me, I've got time."

Rick bounds out of bed. "You don't have to ask me twice. I've always approved of conserving natural resources."

Kate turns the taps in the oversized stall on full before adjusting the temperature to a steamy heat. "Come on in. The water's fine."

Rick squirts some of Kate's spicy body wash into his palm and works up a lather. "Can I wash your back?"

Kate turns to give him access and sighs in pleasure as his hands slide over her skin. "The front could use some attention too."

"That would be my very great pleasure." His soapy fingers explore every inch of her breasts, coaxing the pink tips to their full glory, before gliding lower, as she leans against the back wall for support. Letting the spray dispatch the last of the foaming gel from his hand, Kate moans he slips it between her thighs. "Rick!"

"Tell me what you want."

"Everything, I want everything!"

He presses his lips to hers while his thumb finds the sensitive bud that hardens and grows at his touch. They gulp the moist air as Kate pulls him toward her. She is open and ready. When he lifts her as they join, her legs encircle his waist. The glass rattles with their motion, competing with the beat of the pelting water. Their tongues fence madly, as the pressure builds below. Kate plunges her fingers into his wet hair tasting more deeply of his mouth, still faintly minty from toothpaste the night before.

Rick has lost all sense of time, space, or anything except Kate, surrounding him, her intimate muscles firm against his hardness. He can feel the first contractions, foreshadowings of the release to come, triggering his response. He holds her fast as she convulses in his arms before her feet can return to the textured security of the shower floor.

* * *

Wearing a thick terrycloth robe, Rick starts the coffee and beats eggs while Kate gets dressed. Alexis will be up soon. She'll take care of her own morning ritual but happily eat an omelet. He should make some of the turkey bacon she likes too. He prefers the real stuff, but he can't blame his daughter for taking her teacher's instructions on healthy eating seriously - at least to a point. He can't see his little girl turning away her favorite cookies anytime soon.

Kate arrives at the stools at the counter first, in an N.Y.P.D. T-shirt and jeans. She'll be changing into her uniform at work, but she's French-braided her hair and pinned it up on her head, meeting the regulation that it does not fall beneath her collar. She still looks entrancing enough that Rick wishes they could make a return trip to the shower - or the bedroom.

Not much chance of that, even if Kate didn't have to get to the 12th. Alexis bounces down the stairs. Kate isn't the only one for whom the day is momentous. Rick's found a violin teacher Alexis likes. Leta Jones will never displace Dylan Fulton in the little girl's heart, but she and Dylan went to Juilliard together, and she has a similar style and attitude toward the music. Leta also has streaks of magenta and gold in her hair which Rick finds questionable, but Alexis regards as intriguing.

Leta will be giving her first lesson in the Castle household as soon as Alexis returns from school. Kate should be arriving at the loft not long after that so Rick will be wedging his writing into the hours in-between. Ever since Kate accepted his ring, ideas have been exploding in his head both for Nikki Heat and Derrick Storm. For once, Gina has stopped complaining that he's behind as he submits his chapters, even ahead of his deadlines. He's hoping to build up enough slack time so that when he and Kate get a honeymoon - whenever that happens - all he'll have to think about is his wife. He wants to be at least half a book ahead, maybe more. Mother has already agreed to look after Alexis, even if she has to let an understudy take over a role while she does. Now he and Kate just need to set a date for the wedding.

Since she said she wants to see how things work out going back on the job with Marica, today will be the start of making that happen. And Kate will need to earn some vacation time too. Apparently, the N.Y.P.D. is very picky about things like that. There's unpaid leave for emergencies, but the force doesn't seem to think that a trip to a tropical paradise qualifies. Whatever it takes, he and Kate will have their wedding and their honeymoon, and they will be the best things ever.


	46. Chapter 46

Stay in Touch

Chapter 46

Martha Rodgers sweeps in the door of the loft shocking Rick out of his writing spree. "Mother, I wasn't expecting you."

"Well yes I know, Darling, but we closed in Cleveland, and there was a problem with our opening in Philadelphia."

"What kind of a problem?"

"The theater burned down - something about aluminum wiring. It was empty at the time, so no one was hurt. The other details don't matter, but until we find another venue or we open in Pittsburgh, I'll be in New York. It will give me a chance to get to know Katherine and help you plan your wedding."

"Mother we haven't even set a date yet."

"Well, we'll take care of that. Alexis told me that Katherine is living here now. When will she be arriving?"

"Probably a little after five. But Mother, she's not ready yet. She wanted to get back into the rhythm of patrols, and she just started this morning."

"Rhythm! There's only one thing you two need rhythm for. Heh, heh! We can talk about it over dinner. Now, when's my girl coming home?"

Rick looks at his watch. "The van should drop her off in about 20 minutes, but she has a violin lesson."

"Oh yes, she told me about the new teacher. I can't say that I understand the attractions of striped hair, but then I went through a period of wearing a shag, so who knows what will be the coming thing? Peta is it?"

"Leta, Leta Jones. And she should be here momentarily also. Do me a favor, Mother. Alexis likes her, so don't scare her off."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I have some unpacking to do to fill my time. The cabbie left my luggage with Eduardo. He should be bringing it up any minute."

The doorbell rings and Rick lets the doorman, who is struggling under the weight of several large suitcases, in, grabbing a large tote before it hits the ground. Rick hands the hapless man a twenty dollar bill before closing the door behind him and turns back to Martha. "I suppose you want me to take these up to your room for you."

Martha grabs the tote. "I'll take this, but I'm sure you can handle the rest."

"Of course."

Rick is rubbing a sore spot on his calf, bruised by one of Martha's heftier bags, when Alexis bounds into the loft, with Leta Jones behind her. "I met Ms. Jones in the lobby, so we came up in the elevator together." She spies Martha at the top of the stairs. "Gram!"

Martha opens her arms as she descends. "There's my girl!"

Words tumble from Alexis' mouth as she introduces her grandmother to her teacher, before running upstairs to grab her violin.

"I saw you in The Fantasticks with Jerry Orbach," Leta notes to Martha.

"You remember that? I was the mute!"

"But you had a presence. You conveyed your emotions perfectly. I've always thought that takes more skill than communicating with lines, just as music can evoke incredible reactions without the need for words. I always try to teach my students that the impact of their music is more than getting the notes correct."

"I think I may like you as much as Alexis does." Alexis' feet clatter on the stairs. "And she returns!" Martha exclaims. "I will leave you to your art. Unless Richard has moved it, there should be a music stand near the piano. Alexis will know."

"I look forward to talking to you again, Ms. Rodgers," Leta calls after Martha as the diva makes her way to her private domain.

Rick returns to his writing as the strains of the piece Alexis is working on fill the loft. He doesn't mind working with the music in the background, even with an occasional muffed note or two. The joy that playing gives his daughter is more than worth it. Besides, if he can get through writing the next couple of pages, he'll have another chapter finished, and he can start dinner before Kate comes home.

He considers making a dish Mother won't care for, to minimize the time she'll be at the table leaning on Kate about a wedding date, but it would just be putting off the inevitable, and it's not as if he doesn't want the matter settled, himself. The sooner he can slip the band Feldman came up with to match her engagement ring, on Kate's finger, the better he'll like it. Kate doesn't respond well to being pressured, and he doesn't want to make her feel that she is. Unfortunately, with Hurricane Martha, it may be inevitable. Rick settles on an eggplant dish that he can nuke once he browns the sausage, and he can reheat if Kate shows up late.

* * *

During her shift in a marked car with Marica, Kate felt as if she'd come home. The day wasn't uneventful. Before paramedics arrived, she had to administer emergency Narcan to a junkie who'd OD'd in the park. She also coped with an attempted crime during a massive traffic jam her unit and several others had been called in to sort out. A couple of enterprising, if not too bright young men were intent on robbing occupants of stuck vehicles - with a water pistol. The weapon would have been convincing enough if it hadn't been for the "Kaboom!" emblazoned in red on one side.

Kate is feeling good when she returns to the loft, and even better after a kiss from Rick and a sniff of the rich scent emanating from the kitchen. "I need to tell you…" Rick begins.

"Katherine, Darling," Martha projects with full theatrical skill from above. "We will have to talk, dear."

Rick grits his teeth. "It could be a long evening."

* * *

"How about a Christmas wedding?" Martha suggests, sipping on a subtly oaked Chardonnay. "So much joy and anticipation in the air, the smell of chestnuts…"

"The bite of windchill," Rick interjects. "Kate and I were thinking about an outdoor wedding - preferably with temperatures well above freezing."

"Spring is lovely too. How about May?"

"I'm due to have a book out, and Black Pawn will be tying me up with appearances."

"Martha," Kate adds, "I won't have enough vacation accumulated until July."

Martha raises her glass. "That's perfect! Then you'll miss the June rush. You don't want anything around July 4th, too much traffic. How about the end of the month?"

Kate and Rick look at each other. Rick shrugs, and Kate nods. "All right, Mother," Rick agrees, "assuming nothing unexpected pops up, the end of July it will be."

Martha takes a larger sip of her wine. "See, nothing you can't figure out if you put your minds to it. Now about Kate's dress, I know a marvelous costumier. She's done wedding gowns for three different productions I've appeared in - absolute perfection each time. I'm sure she can create something exquisite for Kate and a flattering complement to it for you Richard. And the food. Richard the caterer you use for your parties will not do. You can't feed your guests guacamole and chicken wings. You'll need something more sophisticated yet casual enough not to intimidate. There are so many people going gluten-free and vegan these days. They'll have to be accommodated."

Rick exchanges glances with Kate. He's grateful- mostly - to his mother for moving things along, but the deluge of details is overwhelming. With Bob Weldon most likely taking office in January, a small ceremony in the mayor's office at City Hall or with his friend presiding in a small park somewhere could be a much better start to a life of marital bliss. He and Kate can talk about that in the privacy of their bed - with the bedroom door securely locked.

A/N I posted a new The Rookie story called Reparations.


	47. Chapter 47

Stay in Touch

Chapter 47

Rick sighs as he settles into bed. "Recovered from Mother's onslaught?"

Kate punches down her pillow before shoving it behind her neck. "It wasn't that bad. The end of July will be OK."

"If you don't count the heat, the humidity, and Mother's ambitions for a three-ring circus."

Kate turns toward him. "Did you want to wait longer?"

"Hell no! Kate, I'd marry you tomorrow, if I could, even if we had to wait until you have enough vacation for a honeymoon. I was just thinking that I'd like to go simpler - at least simpler than what Mother has in mind."

"Yeah, I was thinking that too. I mean, I want at least what my parents had, a dress, flowers, music, to celebrate with my friends, but I don't want a Broadway extravaganza. Maybe something on the beach in the Hamptons?"

"You read my mind. There's a restaurant in the village that can put together a spread we can serve at the house. We can put tables out on the lawn or even by the pool. There will be plenty of room. We can have a DJ or a band, whatever you want. But what about your dress? Long trains and sand are not a winning combination."

"I'm too much of a cop to have anything I might trip on anyway."

"Oh no! You're not setting up to be a runaway bride are you? I never liked that movie."

Kate punches him in the arm. "You don't get rid of me that easily. I just want something I can move in - and dance in. If that doesn't make Martha's costume lady happy, I can get one off the rack. And you can wear anything you want - except your Darth Vader costume."

"It wouldn't fit with the theme anyway. So are we still talking about July? It's already pretty cold on the beach to do it now, and we are getting into Nor'easter season. Or I could whisk you down to the City Clerk's office, and we could have a second ceremony and a celebration in July before we get our time alone together."

Kate presses her lips together before shaking her head. "I'm a one and done girl. One perfect day before a perfect time alone with my husband - and we leave the clowns and trapeze artists out of it."

Framing her cheeks, Rick brings her lips to his. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Rick turns slowly around a now empty loft. Kate is on patrol, Alexis is at school, and his mother is at a yoga class, leaving him to plan for Thanksgiving. It's still a week away, but it may be the most important one he's ever had - at least in terms of things to be thankful for. He's going to marry the woman he loves. His daughter is cheerful again. He's ahead on his obligations to Black Pawn. Not that he didn't expect him to, but Bob Weldon won the election, giving Rick a friend and Kate a champion in the mayor's office. Not that she needs one.

She and Marica have been racking up collars, making it likely that Kate can move up the ranks to detective at record speed. She still has a long way to go, but he does not doubt that in a few years she'll be having adventures that surpass anything he can dream up for Nikki Heat. Every so often he'll hear a siren in the distance, the blood will drain from his face, and his stomach will clench, but Kate has to be Kate. The woman he loves is a cop, and he has to live with that. If she weren't one, she wouldn't be the valiant seeker after justice he adores.

He shakes his head to bring his mind back to plans for the holiday. Kate hasn't had a real family Thanksgiving since her mother was killed. Her father was in mourning, and she didn't feel up to smiling while downing dry turkey with her Aunt Theresa and Cousin Sophia. She'd told Rick that before earning her uniform, she would curl up on the couch for the day, trying to distract herself with football or one of his books. Now he wants to give her the whole enchilada - or at least a turkey that retains its moisture. He has the checklist he's used since Alexis was able to toddle. In addition to the noble bird, he's always served stuffing, yams, vegetable relishes, the traditional green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, and of course pumpkin pie. He and Alexis shared warm spiced cider and if Mother was around there had to be a bottle of wine as well.

But this year he wants to go all out. Kate has invited her father, her aunt, and her cousin. Mother will be there too, and she will be bringing her latest beau. If Rick remembers correctly, his name is Bert, and he loves the way Mother can belt out the old tunes as she did at the Palace. Or maybe that was Roger. Whoever it is will keep Mother occupied and mercifully out of the kitchen. The one year she tried to help, the gravy came out looking like brown oatmeal, and his seven-layer dip had thirteen. It's safe to let her set the table, with Alexis folding the napkins. His daughter has been practicing turning them into swans, following instructions in a book she found at the library.

Rick will be serving both a turkey and a ham. According to Kate, her father volunteered to bring his one signature dish, a corn casserole. Rick's planning on both yams and mashed potatoes as well as a variety of side dishes including the salads Kate favors. For dessert he'll have the traditional pumpkin pie, but also chocolate raspberry mousse cake and crispy shortbread cookies to accompany after dinner coffee.

He'll be up at five in the morning to get the turkey into the oven, but he can always return to snuggle with Kate until he has to get the rest of the preparations underway. One more thing to be thankful for.

He sets up an alert on his computer to pick up his fresh turkey, before bringing his word processor to the screen. He's always written a Christmas story for Alexis. This year, he'll write one for Thanksgiving too.

Rick is almost finished having the squirrel donate his walnuts to go with the apples at a Thanksgiving feast when his phone dings with a text from Kate. The colon with the right-facing parentheses is not a good sign. Due to Marica's extended leave and Kate being the new kid on the block, they've both been assigned to crowd control for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, starting before 6 a.m. when the early risers camp out on 75th and Central Park West.

The upside is that Kate will still be able to make it for Thanksgiving dinner if they move it back a little. Rick can also put the turkey in a bit later. The downside is that they'll miss their early morning cuddle - unless they want to make it very early. Rick considers the option. Alexis will still be sound asleep. Mother won't start her yoga until she can do a salutation to the sun, which won't be until almost seven. If Kate will be out in the cold on a holiday morning, he might as well do his best to warm her - and himself - up first.

A/N In case you missed it, I have a new The Rookie story called Reparations.


	48. Chapter 48

Stay in Touch

Chapter 48

The bedroom is dark except for the reflections of the lights outside, but Rick can make out a faint outline of Kates profile. Her lips vibrate as she breathes. If he wanted to be unkind, he'd accuse her of snoring, but to him the sound is pure comfort, assuring him that she's at his side. He grabs his cell from the bedside table to check the time. Four a.m., perfect. They have almost an hour before she has to get ready to wrangle pre-dawn Thanksgiving campers and he'll be starting kitchen duty.

She wrinkles her nose as he brushes the hair from her face, and feathers a kiss on her lips. "Happy Thanksgiving."

She rubs her eyes and pulls herself up on her elbows. "Happy Thanksgiving to you too."

Rick wiggles his eyebrows. "Shall I count the things I'm thankful for?" He kisses her mouth more deeply. "There's this." Pushing down the sheet, he pursues his adoration of one breast and then the other. "And this and this."

Kate gasps as he continues his worship, his tongue caressing the focus of his gratitude. Writhing beneath his attention, she plunges her fingers into the thick strands of his hair, grasping his head against her mounting need. She can feel the tension spreading through her, thrusting her beyond control, panting and wild. He stays with her as waves of shuddering release grip her limbs.

She lays quietly for a moment, before reaching for what she treasures, kissing and licking first, before greedily engulfing its fullness. Rick's breath is staccato, punctuating her every move. She can taste his climax approaching, swallowing its herald and the potent stream that follows. She is still, her cheek against the hardness of his thigh when jolted by electronic chimes. "Damn!" She reaches to shut off the alarm on her phone.

"Not the best word to end a grace," Rick teases. "But God willing, we can pick up where we left off, tonight."

Kate grins down at him. "Let us say, amen."

* * *

In mid-morning when holiday preparations reach a lull, Alexis sits cross-legged on a pillow on the floor in front of her father as he reads the story he crafted in anticipation of the day.

 _"_ _Swerve the squirrel is proud of herself. She earned her name by changing course in mid-run whenever she spotted a maple spinner, a fallen crabapple, or even one of the prune pits that Mrs. Larchmont throws out into her yard every day. Swerve has worked hard all fall and managed to store up more than enough food for the winter._

 _"_ _Not all the other animals in Crestmont Development have been either as diligent or as lucky, not even the other squirrels. Mr. Perkins cleaned out the gutters which had been a treasure trove of spinners before they could be eaten or gathered. Mr. Murphy put a fence around his garden and netting over it so that bunnies, deer, and even birds couldn't get to the green leaves or succulent berries. The moles could tunnel under it, but Murphy had poisoned the sweet grubs they loved to eat. Swerve is the only furry or feathered creature in all of Crestmont feeling secure about the coming season._

 _"_ _But the animals still believe that they have a lot of cause to give thanks. Mrs. Schwartz let the dandelions grow wild in her yard and on her lawn, providing tender flowers and circles of leaves like crowns on the ground. Mrs. Larchmont kept her feeders filled with suet and seeds. The Flugle's deck had unguarded containers of plants which bore tiny tomatoes throughout the summer, and wild daisies grew high in an unmowed lot providing a feast as well._

 _"_ _In their sunrise conclave, all the animals decide to celebrate what the Great Maker has given them and pray that he'll be kind as the winds grow cold and the snow begins to fall. They agree that every creature will contribute something._

 _"_ _Swerve isn't so sure. She'd worked harder than the others and wants to save everything she has so she won't need help from the Great Maker or anyone else to make it through the barren times._

 _"_ _They can party, but she will just keep working. As a car speeds through the street in front of the Flugle house, Swerve spots the motherlode flying from a window. A white bag containing leftovers from a human meal hits the hard black surface of the road, scattering its delicious contents._

 _"Swerve scurries out to gather as much as she can and stuff it in her cheeks to take to one of her many storage holes. So intent is she on her task, that she never hears Mr. Perkin's truck approaching. But Mortimer, the Flugle's dog barks just in time to startle her into awareness, and she escapes the deadly oncoming wheels._

 _"Swerve runs into the muddy ditch at the side of the road and trembles. Mortimer had been a nuisance all summer, chasing her just when she was about to pick up her best finds, but now he's saved her life. Were it not for him, she would be gone, and all her stores would go uneaten. The Great Maker reached out using his most unlikely servant, and suddenly Swerve is overwhelmed with joy._

 _"She brings load after load from her winter caches to contribute to the feast, and when thanks are given to the Great Maker, her squeaks and grunts are the loudest."_

Alexis is giving her father her end-of-the-story hug when Kate calls to say that she's on her way. Kate's timing is perfect. Rick pulls the turkey out of the oven to rest. Alexis folds her swans as Martha opens a bottle of Pinot Noir. Jim Beckett cheers his alma mater's team in front of the big screen TV, along with Martha's friend Bert, while Theresa adds black olives to a cold pasta salad and Sophia uncovers a container of stuffed mushrooms and arranges them on a small platter.

When Rick greets Kate at the door, he can tell that she showered and washed her hair before changing to street clothes. She's still surrounded by the faint cherry scent of her shampoo as it blends with the sage already infusing the air - immediately making him crave more than dinner.

He takes a deep calming breath. The night will be all the better for the wait. Rick's voice easily projects through the loft. "Thanksgiving festivities will now commence!"

Rick sits at the head of the table with Alexis on one side and Kate on the other and invites Jim Beckett, who is next to Kate, to say the blessings as the company all holds hands.

"We enter a new season and will soon begin a new year. May we greet them with joy in all the gifts this year has brought, the kindness, the resolution, and the love. May Katie and Rick find as much happiness when they become husband and wife, as Johanna and I experienced together every day. Let us all be grateful for the lightening of the load on our souls, even as our thoughts are filled with anticipation of new and better things to come."

Everyone around the Castle table joins in Rick and Kate's second but as heartfelt amen for the day, before Rick rises from his chair with a flourish to carve the seasonal fowl.

A/N If you can't find my "The Rookie" stories, you can either search by my pen name or look for "Rookie" stories. The site left out the "The," in the listing.


	49. Chapter 49

Stay in Touch

Chapter 49

Kate shoves a stack of wrapped packages under the soaring fir in the great room. "I can't believe it's Christmas Eve."

Rick shakes his head. "And I can't believe that you have to be at work tomorrow morning. It completely destroys the joy of exploring what Santa left in our stockings - particularly since I had that one specially made for you." He points to a high-heeled boot rendered in glittering fabric, hanging over the fireplace.

Kate wraps her arms around his waist. "It's the job, Babe. You know that. In a few years when I have more seniority, someone else can be out there on Christmas morning, but for now, I'm elected. You wouldn't think it would be a busy time, but some idiot has been ripping off nativity scenes - taking the figures of sheep."

Rick quirks one brow. "That conjures up all sorts of things I'd rather not think about. Kinky!"

"Or maybe it's a Kiwi who misses the homestead. Either way, Marica and I will be keeping an eye on the churches that might be targeted. And there is always someone who wants to take advantage of the holiday to break into a closed store or restaurant."

"Definitely on Santa's naughty list. What time will you get off? Oops! That didn't come out the way I meant it. What time is your shift over?"

"I should be home for dinner."

"I will have a proper repast waiting."

"Just don't eat all the Christmas cookies while I'm gone. Alexis warned me about you. She said when she was younger she thought she should dress you up in blue fur."

"I am a Christmas cookie monster, but I will try to curb my urges, at least until you're around to share. But we'll go through a lot of them tonight while we're opening presents. And of course, we'll have to leave some out for the jolly old elf."

"Which will be gone by morning."

"It's only fair to reward his efforts. That reminds me. It's only fair to reward our efforts. We need to put in the roast. How do you feel about peeling carrots?"

"Fine, if I can use my imagination."

Rick winces. "Not even gonna go there."

For Christmas Eve, Alexis switches from folding napkins into swans to folding them into a Christmas tree, after cajoling Rick into purchasing green ones. There will only be five for dinner. Martha provided Jim Beckett with a ticket for a matinee performance of a short run she's doing off-Broadway, and they'll be returning to the loft together. The roast Rick picked out is larger than it needs to be, but in his mind, it's always better on sandwiches the next day. Without Kate at the loft, stuffing slices of beef between slices of bread is about as far as he'll want to go in his culinary efforts, but a step up from just ordering Chinese.

He's expecting Alexis to wriggle in her chair during tonight's holiday night meal, anxious for the denouement to take place around the tree. Rick is pretty curious himself about what Kate has deposited beneath the branches.

He thought long and hard about gifts for her. After an engagement ring and picking out wedding rings, jewelry seemed anti-climactic - unless she could wear it on her ears or in her hair. He found butterflies jeweled with sapphires, for both locations. He also picked out some lingerie that he can present to her privately for their mutual enjoyment, and a red wrap coat he'd noticed her admiring in the window of a boutique. They chose a gift for her father together, a catcher's glove autographed by Thurman Munson. It's always easy to shop for Mother. Rick picks out things in color combinations that make his eyes water, and she loves them.

Rick also consulted with Kate about presents for Alexis. He sighs to himself. It was easy just a couple of years back. With a tutu and a plastic tiara, she would happily dance around the loft all day. He can handle music and electronics. A new tablet and an encyclopedia about famous composers for the violin easily fill the bill. But clothes? She wants to look more grown up, but he doesn't want her looking too grown up. Mother can take her shopping for essential pieces of her wardrobe, but Kate steered him toward a leather bag and a matching jacket which she declared to be in fashion but not too adult for the youngster. He's more than willing to trust her on that and looking forward to receiving her advice on fulfilling girlish wishes in the years to come.

Rick's mother and Jim Beckett appear to be getting along nicely when she breezes in the door with him in her wake. He's complimenting her on the evolution of her expressions as her play progressed and she's eating it up. It will be interesting to see if anything happens between the two of them but given that mother's relationships can usually be timed with a stopwatch, Bert already having been sloughed off, it might be just as well if they stay friendly in-laws.

* * *

Christmas is passing slowly for Rick, even playing with the incredible new video game Kate bought for him. It's late afternoon, and Kate hasn't called yet. He's wondering if she and Marica got caught up busting perpetrators of some exotic Christmas caper. He mentally crosses his fingers that whatever is delaying her is more tedious than dangerous.

* * *

"Are they evidence or what?" Kate asks Marica. "Those guys were trying to steal them. Doesn't that qualify them as evidence in a crime?"

Marica shrugs and throws up her hands. "I don't know. I've caught people trying to steal dogs and a rare cat once. We just returned them to their owners. But I've never dealt with live sheep. We could try to reach someone at the church again."

Kate nods and punches a number into her phone. When her call goes straight to voicemail, she leaves her third message. "Probably the pastor and the rest of the staff are home with their families."

"As we should be," Marica points out. "We sure as hell can't take this herd to the precinct or the crime lab. I guess we call animal control - if there's anyone there on Christmas."

Kate holds up crossed fingers.

* * *

"Live sheep?" Rick repeats.

"They were part of a manger scene in front of 'Our Father's Gifts.' At least they didn't have camels or donkeys. A couple of thieves knocked out the shepherd before we caught them, and the paramedics transported him to the hospital. Animal control was working with a skeleton crew, mostly taking calls from people who swore they saw reindeer, so it took them a while to get somebody out there who could figure out what to do with our wooly friends. But they should be safe until someone from the church can reclaim them. Just tell me you didn't decide to cook lamb."

"You know, I was thinking about it. You know, one of those roasts with the bones sticking up that you can put the little booties on. But I couldn't find any in red velvet to match our Santa hats, so I decided to go with macaroni and cheese instead. No one from a nativity scene will be around tonight unless three kings come knocking at our door."

"Let's eat before they have a chance to show up."

Rick offers her his arm to escort her to the table.


	50. Chapter 50

Stay in Touch

Chapter 50

Settling in on the couch next to Kate, Rick offers her a grape from the plate of fruit and cheese he put on the coffee table. "I'm sorry we couldn't go out tonight. The New Year's Eve party from the Poe Society is usually a blast. When those guys get a few glasses of Champagne in them, they start talking about all the stuff they had to cut from their books. It brings them down to the level of mere mortals. The band should be good this year too; I heard they got the one that opens for Springsteen. I bet they rock. But with Alexis getting over her strep throat I didn't want to leave her with a sitter and Mother has an event with her theater community tonight."

Kate leans her head against his shoulder. "Babe, it's all right. I don't need to be in a room with a lot of people getting drunk and waiting for midnight for an excuse to kiss someone. I don't need an excuse."

"Indeed you don't. My lips and any other part of me you'd like to explore are yours for the taking, but what would you like to do until the witching hour, or at least until Alexis is securely in dreamland, watch the celebration in Times Square or choose a movie?"

"Listen to music maybe, but not New Year's Rockin' Eve. I'm in the mood for Old Blue Eyes."

"I take it you're referring to Sinatra, not me."

"Yours are a much deeper color, but yes, I meant the chairman of the Rat Pack. You have him on vinyl, don't you?"

"I do. The records were Mother's. She bought them when she was married to her second husband. They're one of the few things he didn't steal from her, but after he took off with her life savings, she didn't want anything that reminded her of him, so she gave them to me. If you like them, her loss is definitely my gain."

"I love Sinatra. The way he sang, you not only understand every word but feel the meaning. You know what I mean?"

"As a fan of words actually conveying meaning, I agree entirely with your sentiments. And his voice wasn't bad either. So what's your favorite?"

"'My Way' is sort of my theme song."

"No argument there."

"But I think 'It Was a Very Good Year," would be appropriate to the occasion.

"It would at that, and the whole LP is great. 'I've Got You Under My Skin' is on it. If 'My Way' is your theme, that has to be mine. I'll put the album on the turntable."

The mellow music floats around Kate, and she leans back against Rick's chest and closes her eyes. As Rick gazes down at her while Sinatra croons "The Way You Look Tonight," it's as if Rick's very thoughts were captured in song. He leans in to whisper, "Would you like to dance?"

Kate sits up and offers her hand. "I'd like that very much."

Their feet barely move, as Rick holds Kate close, her hand at the nape of his neck. Their mouths are drawn together before Kate pulls back, her face flushed. "I wonder if Alexis is asleep yet."

"She should be. I made sure she took her antibiotic a couple of hours ago. She was reading in bed, but she already looked drowsy. I'll go see."

Rick takes the stairs two at a time and hurries back down moments later. "Dead to the world, but I checked, she's breathing. Her fever seems to be down, but I believe my temperature's rising by the minute."

"I think mine is too. We really should be in bed ourselves."

Rick scoops Kate up in his arms. "I agree completely."

Kate's cell buzzes with an alert just as Rick lays her down on the puffy comforter. "Damn!" She pulls it from her pocket and regards the screen. "A bomb went off at No Walls - that gay bar in the village. It's all hands on deck. I gotta go."

"Anything about how many people were hurt?'

"Nothing except the emergency call. There's probably something on the news, but I need to get to the precinct, now."

"Good thing we didn't open the Champagne early."

"Yeah." She grabs a quick kiss. "I'll call you when I can."

"Just be careful, Kate."

* * *

For a few moments, after Kate hurries away, Rick can't find anything on the television but coverage of New Year's revelry until a reporter appears as the breaking news banner flashes across the screen. She's young. Like Kate, she's most likely low enough on the totem pole to get stuck working holidays. "There has been an explosion at No Walls, a bar that was the site of a demonstration that energized the gay rights movement. The cause is thought to have been a bomb, but as yet we have no confirmation. There is no word yet about the number of casualties, but the bar was full of patrons celebrating the holiday. The fire department is on site, and the police are arriving in force. Stay tuned for further details as soon as we have them."

Rick closes his eyes shaking his head. No Walls was probably packed. A tragedy will be unfolding throughout the night with Kate on the scene. To say that the New Year is not starting off well is a gross understatement.

* * *

Rick springs awake in his chair when Kate drags in after dawn. "How bad was it?'

"Really bad. The bomb was an incendiary. No Walls was practically a fireball. A few people made it out, but when the firefighters got the flames knocked down, there were hundreds of bodies, maybe more than at Oklahoma City. And they were charred. If they can be identified, it will have to be by dental records and DNA. The gay community has already organized a vigil, but there will be protests too."

"Sounds like rightfully so. Any clue to who might be responsible?"

"That's above my pay grade, but there are probably already rumors flying. Homeland Security has been called in. They'll be treating it as a terrorist attack. There's going to be a full court press to uncover who's behind it, but until they're sure, they'll try to keep a lid on it. Pointing the finger at any group without solid evidence could touch off more violence."

"Is there anything civilians can do? Give blood? Raise money?"

Kate shakes her head. "The victims are way beyond needing blood, but as they're identified their families will need support. Right now it's too early to do much of anything."

"What can I do for Kate Beckett?"

"Right now I just want to sleep, but I'd do it better in your arms."

"My arms are completely at your disposal."

* * *

Mochlin George watches the early morning news with satisfaction. The perverted ones have learned about the wages of sin, and No Walls was just the beginning. The city is awash in evil. God's voice urged him to cleanse it with fire. Now he can hear the voice again. He will obey his master's commands. The Lord will guide his hand to make all the bombs he needs and place them where the most sinners will be dispatched to hell. He's tired. He's been up all night watching the aftermath of his holy labor unfold. But until His voice grants him rest, he will not falter in his obedience to His commands.


	51. Chapter 51

Stay in Touch

Chapter 51

Martha twists her slender fingers as she paces back and forth in the great room of Rick's loft. "Darlings, the entire theater community is in a panic. We lost some of our brightest lights to HIV, and if some maniac is out there targeting gays, we could be facing another scourge. Katherine, have you heard if the authorities are any closer to catching this madman?"

Kate sighs and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Martha, not a thing. Homeland security is playing this very close to the vest. Our patrol routes have been shifted to cover areas we suspect might be vulnerable, but we don't even know what we're looking for. It may not even be a man. It could be a woman or an organized group - anything."

As anger overcomes her, Martha's voice rises. "The theater owners are talking about having armed guards check bags and purses and possibly even search patrons. It's outrageous! Going to a play will be like going to the airport."

"They already do that at concerts and many conventions," Kate points out. "Witnesses and jurors can't even get into the courthouse without going through metal detectors. Some schools have even installed them. It's a dangerous world, Martha. We're out there fighting every day, but sometimes it seems like a losing battle."

"Mother, you can't let it get to you," Rick advises. "Even with the security in place, you and your colleagues are there to create moments of joy, inspiration, insight, and just plain fun. In these times, that's more important than ever."

Kate puts a hand on Martha's shoulder. "Rick is right. People need hope, and something they can grab onto that shouts the wonderful things about the city, not the tragic ones."

"That's true, Katherine," Martha agrees. "Whatever the obstacles, the show must go on. I need to go to rehearsal. We're adapting to a new set up. But will you let me know if you hear anything?"

"Of course," Kate assures her.

"You really don't know anything?" Rick asks after Martha's departed.

"Rumors, whispers, people talk. There's one story that the bomber sent a manifesto to the Ledger, and rather than printing it right away, the editor turned it over to the FBI. If that's true, their labs will test for fingerprints, explosive residue, DNA, anything they can find. They'll be doing the same thing with any bomb fragments they could recover, but the heat was so extreme it would have destroyed most evidence. If they got lucky, they might have found something that was blown clear in the explosion - but it's a longshot."

"If this nutbar put out a manifesto, couldn't he also be posting to chatrooms or forums? When I first got online, I was in chatrooms a lot. Some of the people in them can be really out there."

"You have a point, Babe. The N.Y.P.D. has started looking into that kind of thing. I think the FBI and the intelligence agencies may have been on it for a while, but I doubt they have the personnel to handle the volume."

"Probably not," Rick agrees. "Look at the warnings the commission found that intelligence agencies missed for 9/11- and they knew terrorists were looking at using aircraft to attack. I wonder if they could use an extra pair of eyes with an understanding of the darker parts of the human soul."

"I don't know Babe, but if you have an idea of what to look for, it can't hurt. Tips from citizens can put the FBI on the right track. Hell, they had 100 people searching in the wrong state when the Unabomber was turned in by his own brother."

"Alexis is almost finished with her antibiotics, and her fever is gone, but right now I'm terrified to send her back to school. She's got at least one gay teacher that I know of and a bomb could come into the building via a shipment of books or volleyballs or even some kid's backpack left unattended. The state this city is in right now; doing anything is better than doing nothing. We need to end this."

Kate cradles his face in her hands. "I hear you. As good as you've been at tracking down clues so far, you might get lucky. Try whatever you can."

* * *

As his computer screen blurs in front of him, Rick swipes a hand over his eyes. It seems like he's been waiting for something to pop out at him forever. Years back, when he first started exploring online, with a primitive dial-up connection through AOL, chatrooms were a curiosity. They were also annoying. There were people with the same geeky interests he held and also disrupters who did nothing but put out nonsense or garbage. He got better at sorting through trash, but as his options grew, the types of messages he encountered expanded with both kindness and maliciousness. If anything, the increase in fascinating ideas has also come with a rise in toxicity. Up until now, he's done his best to avoid the latter. Actively seeking it out is disturbing and sickening.

It isn't difficult to find bigotry, concerning gender orientation or anything else. And some jerks hate anyone who doesn't walk, talk, look, and believe the way they do. Rick can't imagine a more boring existence or one more destructive to the spirit. Thinking about it spiritually is ironic. Some of the worst venom is spouted by those professing a pipeline to the Almighty. As far as Rick's concerned, their beliefs originate from the other direction, but their online homes seem to be where the most intense sentiment prevails. He swallows the acid rising in his throat as he scans through the postings.

Most of them are just expressions of hatred, often justified by passages from religious scriptures of one kind or another. A few of them actually propose some sort of action such as beating up gays or in some cases lynching them. Of the killers Rick has studied for his books, there's been a difference between those who enjoy the hands-on violence of delivering blows in person and those who stay in the background with poison or bombs. He suspects he is seeking the second type.

He checks his watch. Kate will be home soon, and he hasn't been near the kitchen since she left except to nuke some chicken noodle soup for Alexis. His own appetite has diminished with every keystroke. But Kate's been prowling the streets all day and is probably hungry. He should make an effort to put something together for her.

He's about to sign off when a new posting catches his eye. "Holy fire sending damned souls to the flames of hell." Oh, Lord! A loving god would have nothing to do with this. The entry goes on citing "Leviticus 18:22 and Romans 6:23."

Rick grabs a Bible from a shelf in his office, but he's pretty sure what he's going to find: "You shall not lie with a male as a woman; it is an abomination," and "for the wages of sin is death."

The poster identifies himself as "Refiner's Fire." There's got to be some way to track him down. He's hoping that Kate will know.

* * *

Mochlin George regards his screen with satisfaction. The voice had reminded him of 2 Timothy 3:16, "Every scripture is divinely inspired, and profitable for teaching, for conviction, for correction, for instruction in righteousness." Mochlin has passed on the teaching and continues his correction as God wills.


	52. Chapter 52

Stay in Touch

Chapter 52

Kate stares across the table at Rick. "Babe, you should eat something. You look like a truck ran over you."

Rick shakes his head. "Maybe later. I may have had some success finding a lead on the bomber, but the _dreck_ that I had to wade through to get it wasn't exactly appetizing."

"What did you find?"

Rick pushes out of his chair to grab a sheet of paper from the desk in his office and hands it to Kate. "Here."

"It looks like it's from the kind of nutcase who would have bombed No Walls. That doesn't prove anything, but it might be a place to start. What's refiner's fire?"

"It's all over the Bible in various forms, most notably Isaiah 48.10, 'Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction.' It's also the name of a praise song. There's a line in it: "I choose to be holy, set apart for you my master; ready to do your will." This guy thinks he's doing the will of God, like every knight who swung a sword in the crusades, every jihadist, the Spanish inquisitors, and the assholes who burn crosses. And if it is him, and he isn't stopped, we could see a lot more conflagrations."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Figure out how to get whatever big guns are involved to track him down and drag him in for questioning. If he is just some harmless crazy, maybe they can get him some help. But if the bastard isn't, maybe you can keep him from trying to refine anyone else."

"Babe, this is a Homeland Security case. The N.Y.P.D. is just providing support, but I can talk to my watch commander. He may be able to get to the captain in charge of coordinating those efforts and convince her to reach out."

"Do it, Kate, before anyone else goes up in flames."

* * *

Captain Victoria Gates points her folded reading glasses at Sergeant Brad Toomey. "Now let me get this straight. Some writer dug up a post in a chatroom from some crazy he thinks is the bomber. His wife, a cop barely past being a rookie, brought it to you, and you want me to get a warrant to find out who this guy is."

Toomey presses his lips together. "It's not just some writer and green cop. Those are the two who were instrumental in putting William Bracken and Dick Coonan behind bars. The author, Richard Castle, came up with the key behind solving the ATM robberies too. And," Toomey holds up crossed fingers, "he's apparently like this with our new mayor."

Gates lays her glasses on her desk and nods. "Bob Weldon and I go way back. He went to law school with my sister. They were an item for a while. All right, if he tells me he's willing to stand behind this Richard Castle and the overachieving Kate Beckett, I'll try to push it through with Homeland Security." She picks up her glasses again and perches them on the tip of her nose. "It may not be easy. Fallon, the agent in charge, is a real hardass, but I can be too."

Toomey suppresses a smile. "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it."

* * *

Mark Fallon rereads the request from Captain Gates. It looks ridiculous, but he doesn't have much else. The lab came up empty. No fingerprints, no DNA. The bomb was constructed with off the shelf parts available almost anywhere. The accelerant could be bought for cash in any hardware store. The explosive was homemade, from common materials, but didn't match the chemical signature in any previous bombing. The bomber has some technical skill but may be a first timer.

Fallon is agonizingly aware that if the heads ups that crossed certain desks before 9/11 had been given more credence, his wife wouldn't have ridden the second tower down. An unlikely clue is better than none at all, and with his broad powers under the Patriot Act, he should be able to squeeze whoever is necessary to uncover Refiner's Fire's identity. He can only hope that it won't be a dead end.

* * *

The lab and workshop Mochlin George set up in a storage unit isn't very large and could be a lot better ventilated. The fumes from the acids he's using to nitrate the solvent he so easily obtained are making his eyes tear and burning the skin on his face, but God will bring healing. He always does. He's given Mochlin everything he's needed to carry out his commission.

Mochlin smiles contentedly as his solution becomes a deeper yellow. It will be ready soon. The voice has guided him toward the next den of vipers to be cleansed. The club uptown is a mockery of God's laws. Men dressed like women perform to cheering audiences before indulging in… Mochlin can't let the images contaminate his mind. To even think about such evil is a transgression. He gazes toward his flask again. It won't be long now before he can vanquish more of the devil's servants, not long at all.

* * *

"So Homeland Security is on board?" Rick questions.

Kate blows out a deep breath. "That's what Toomey told me he heard from Captain Gates."

"Yeah, Weldon called me and said he'd heard from her too. I guess the two of us hit DHS in a pincer movement of sorts." Rick drops onto the couch. "I just hope my lead on Refiner's Fire pans out before he can burn anyone else."

Kate takes a seat beside him. "So do I, but we've done all we can for now."

Rick thumbs a strand of hair out of her face. "I didn't even ask what strides you made against the more everyday criminal element today. Any decent collars?"

"More like an indecent collar. There was a creep hanging around Our Lady of Pompei."

"The elementary school?"

"Uh huh. He was exposing himself. It was like a bad joke, except to the kids; he was actually wearing a raincoat."

"That wouldn't have been enough to keep him warm in this weather."

"Apparently it wasn't. The kids didn't get much to see."

Laughter explodes from Rick, releasing more pressure than he knew he'd been holding inside, and Kate starts to giggle. Rick rubs tears from his cheeks. Oh God, I needed that. I mean, I'm glad you and Marica got that guy away from the playground, but the picture in my mind is priceless."

Kate kisses the tip of his nose. "You're looking better than you have since this ugly business started."

"I feel better. I know it, Kate, in my gut. Refiner's Fire is the No Walls bomber. If Homeland Security, the N.Y.P.D., or anyone else can dig him out of his hole, the nightmare in this city will be over. And you know what else is in my gut?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"Trick question. Absolutely nothing. I'm starving. How about if we order a pizza, with everything on it?"

"And by everything you mean?"

"Sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, banana peppers, and black olives."

Kate wrinkles her nose. "My Nonna would be ashamed of me, but I don't like olives, especially not on pizza. Sun-dried tomatoes?"

Rick grins. "You've got a deal."

* * *

Mochlin pulls his flask out of the cooling bath. The solid inside looks perfect. If he works the rest of the night, he should have his vessel of holy fire ready tomorrow.


	53. Chapter 53

Stay in Touch

Chapter 53

"Why don't we have an I.D. on Refiner's Fire yet?' Fallon demands.

Agent Morgana Fentress takes a step back. "I'm sorry sir. The identity of the holder of the domain of the site he posted on was listed as confidential by a secondary vendor. We rushed the paperwork through on that, but we had trouble contacting anyone in the organization running the chat room. When we did, they balked at releasing the contact information for our suspect. We've issued a national security letter, but we have no response yet."

"Then send a damn tactical squad to the office if you have to. You can get back up from the locals. Just get me a name and where to find the sonofabitch."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Kate is more than a little nervous at being summoned to see Captain (Iron), Gates. The captain's reputation precedes her as one of the toughest members of the force. For someone at Kate's level to be called in, usually means serious trouble.

Gates motions Kate to a chair. "Officer Beckett, I wanted to see you because you are responsible for initiating the search for Refiner's Fire. I thought you might be interested in an update on our progress."

Kate's eyes widen. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Ma'am is my mother. Call me captain or sir."

"Yes, Captain."

"Refiner's Fire is the alias of a Mochlin George. Homeland Security located his apartment, but he wasn't there. Under the Patriot Act, for better or for worse, they can do a few things that we can't. When they searched his place, they found a receipt for a storage unit. It contained all the materials and equipment necessary for making the type of device used to blow up No Walls. You found the key to identifying our perp, Officer Beckett."

"Sir, with all due respect, it was Richard Castle that found the posting from Refiner's Fire. I just passed it up the chain."

"Richard Castle is a friend of yours?"

"My fiancé. We're going to be married in July."

"Congratulations. You can pass on our thanks - as far as they go. George is in the wind. He has a driver's license and a vehicle registered with the DMV. The plate and descriptions of both car and driver have been sent to every unit on the force, highest priority. I was wondering if you, or given the circumstances, Mr. Castle, might have any insights on where we might concentrate our search."

"Sir, Rick, Mr. Castle, feels that Refiner's Fire believes he is on a holy mission."

"That is backed up by a manifesto he sent to the Ledger concerning the cleansing of sin."

"Yes, Captain. I heard the rumor. But given the historical significance that No Walls held in the equal rights battle of the gay community, and the scriptures George quoted, he might be focusing his attention specifically on the most obvious targets where gays might gather."

"Homeland Security is proceeding on that assumption as well. An FBI profiler gave the highest likelihood of being hit to one target. A club called Transmutation is premiering a new extravaganza tonight. It's received a great deal of publicity in The Village Voice and Rolling Stone. The entertainment section of the Ledger highlighted it as well. The N.Y.P.D. and the FBI will both be keeping it under surveillance. If George shows up, we should be able to nail him. If you wish, I can have you temporarily assigned to that duty."

"Yes, Sir, I'd appreciate that very much."

* * *

Rick can feel his throat tighten. "You're going to be on patrol where that fanatic might strike?"

"Babe, we started this. If it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't know where to look or whom we're looking for. If I spot our suspect, I can call in an army. I'll be fine."

"I wish I could go with you."

"You're not trained for it. You know that. And you have a daughter to take care of. I will call the minute I know anything is happening."

"Promise?"

Kate holds out her hand. "Pinky swear."

* * *

At the wheel of her FBI assigned vehicle, Jordan Shaw glances at the young uniformed police officer in the passenger seat. Shaw is already impressed with Kate Beckett and the information she gleaned from her writer/fiancé. The FBI's nascent net squad had been surfing the web as well, searching for any possible clues to the bomber, but it was Richard Castle who got inside Mochlin George's disturbed mind. No doubt that ability is an asset for a mystery writer, but also slightly embarrassing to some of the agents involved.

Jordan couldn't care less who twigged to George, so long as someone did. And Beckett's ability to get the information pushed up the ladder was essential. Jordan's seen too many investigations bogged down in a bureaucratic quagmire. She and Kate are in the parking lot of Transmutation, with a clear view of the back entrance. Another unit is watching the front, and both the FBI and N.Y.P.D. vehicles have formed a perimeter to detect and apprehend George if he approaches by a side street.

Kate keeps her eyes moving, as she would if patrolling her beat with Marica. It is possible that George might not be driving his car. Patrons can reach Transmutation by bus or subway. George might even have taken a cab. There are gypsies in the area that don't report their pickups the way that officially sanctioned taxis do. In any of those cases, George will be approaching via the sidewalk and the concrete walkways around the building. With the steady stream of people availing themselves of those routes and the possibility that George might be obscuring his identity in some way, Kate is looking for a bag or parcel big enough to contain a bomb. Her problem is that in the 2000s huge bags have officially become a thing; a fashion statement for both men and women.

* * *

Mochlin found the instructions he received from the voice hard to grasp. How could God be commanding him to violate his ordinances? But the laws are the Father's to change in line with his plan. Still, the clothes Mochlin is wearing disturb him, and it's difficult to balance in the shoes, especially carrying the leather bag in which the voice ordered him to transport the holy fire. Mochlin tries to breathe in the spirit as he approaches his destination.

Kate spots the wobbling long-skirted figure carrying the fashionable tote. She remembers that gait from the first time she tried to walk in heels, but she was a preteen, something this attempt at a fashion plate is not. He/she is tall and wide-shouldered, but most drag queens have mastered walking in heels to a "T." The object of Kate's surveillance is, as Rick would have had Nikki Heat describe the personage, the "odd sock." "I think I have him."

Jordan calls for units to stand at ready. With Kate obviously a cop, Jordan will have to make the approach, with Kate as backup. She rubs her cheeks to develop a flush before walking tentatively toward George, under the lights at the door. "I'm so sorry, to bother you but sisterhood, right? I forgot to bring extra tampons, and I'll need one the minute I get in there to the ladies room. I can already feel a leak. I'm hoping you might have one or a pad or something in your bag. Jordan can see the look of disgust on a face that clearly belongs to Mochlin George. She nods toward Kate and presses a button on the walkie talkie in her pocket to summon backup.

A/N I just posted a new The Rookie one shot. A heads up to Browncoats: Sean Maher is in the upcoming episode.


	54. Chapter 54

Stay in Touch

Chapter 54

The Bomb Disposal Unit moves in as the N.Y.P.D. coordinates the evacuation of Transmutation. Mochlin George is almost catatonic as Kate and Jordan guide him into the back of a blue and white after BDU takes custody of his bag. Jordan asks Kate if she'd like to sit in on questioning him - if he's capable of talking.

* * *

Mochlin continues staring straight ahead as his fingers appear to be pulling at his clothes under their own power. After a few minutes in interrogation, Jordan shakes her head. "We're not going to get anything out of him. We'll have to call in a shrink. You might as well get some sleep. I'll email you if I find out anything."

* * *

Rick is pacing the floor of the loft when Kate returns. He wraps his arms around her. "I'm glad you're safe. Did you get him?"

"We did. If he hadn't killed all those people, I'd almost feel sorry for him. It's like he's a robot and someone flicked his off switch. There's no one home. Maybe the doctors at Bellevue will have some luck. Right now, we don't know if he acted alone or was recruited as a puppet for some organization. But Jordan thinks he was on his own."

"Jordan?"

"Jordan Shaw, FBI profiler. She was my partner on the takedown."

"Wow, Kate! Some partner. This isn't the first time she's assisted in capturing a monster. She's like a legend."

"She seems like a human being. And she told me to thank you for your help."

"Wow, again, but no thanks necessary. I'll be able to sleep again tonight - what's left of it. We should do that together. You must be exhausted."

"I was so wired, I couldn't notice, but I'm coming down now. I think I could sleep too."

* * *

Kate awakes spooning with Rick and rolls over in his arms to gaze at him. He's more at peace than he's been for days. Despite the devil-may-care persona he sometimes assumes for public appearances, the bombing and the insanity he encountered online disturbed him deeply. He cares. That's one of the things she loves so much about him - that and the way his hair falling in his face when he sleeps makes him look like a little boy. She checks the time. He'll be up soon, preparing breakfast and making sure Alexis has everything she needs for her day at school. She's hoping to hear something from Jordan, but the FBI profiler is probably in bed too. Kate noticed a wedding ring. Agent Shaw has someone to return to after kicking serial killer butt. But then Kate does too, and it feels incredible. The least she can do is start the coffee.

Kate offers a mug to Rick as he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen. "Thanks." He pulls a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. "What's on your schedule for today? After last night's triumph, do you still have to go to work this morning?"

"No. I'm supposed to get special dispensation. I thought that after you get Alexis on her way, we might crawl back under the covers together."

"Best idea I've heard in a long time." He puts a skillet on the burner. "Scrambled or over easy?"

"Definitely, over easy."

Alexis clomps down the stairs carrying a huge cutaway cardboard box. "What's that?" Rick asks.

"Daddy, you remember. It's my diorama, 'The Mammals Emerge as the Dinosaurs Head Toward Extinction.' I was making all the figures during the Christmas break, and it's due today. But I don't think there will be room for it in the van. I need you to take me to school."

Rick sighs, before forcing a smile back on his face. "Of course. Happy to assist my talented daughter in presenting her work to an adoring public."

* * *

Kate's back in bed when Rick returns to the loft. For a moment he thinks she's fallen asleep, but she opens her eyes and pushes the bedcoverings back.

A grin splits Rick's face. "You're not wearing anything."

"And you're wearing way too much."

Rick pulls at the buttons of his shirt. "A situation easily remedied." He lets his clothes fall to the floor for later retrieval before climbing in beside Kate. "I thought you were going to get more sleep."

"Eventually, but I decided I'd do something more challenging first."

"And what would that be?"

She climbs astride his hips. "I've always loved bareback riding."

"How about a bare front?"

She caresses him to full attention. "Even better."

His hands are warm on her breasts, sending pulses of excitement through her body, as she moves above him, but she needs more. Grasping his right hand, she guides his fingers to the root of her sensation.

Breath forces itself from between his lips, as she tightens around him, her urgency mounting as her hair flies with the wildness of her ride. She's close, so close. When Rick jerks within her, it sets off her own cascade, draining them both until she collapses to rest her head against his chest.

Rick makes the only move for which he still has strength; pulling a sheet over their cooling skins.

* * *

They rouse to the sound of jackhammers. Rick groans. "I can't believe they're tearing up the street again. They were just out there a few months ago."

Kate grabs her watch. "Eleven-thirty. At least they didn't start at dawn, and we got a couple of hours of sleep in."

"Among other bedtime adventures," Rick adds. "Alexis won't be home for a few hours yet. Want to go out someplace excessively decadent for lunch? We haven't done that in a while."

"Sounds good, but let's catch a shower first."

"Might as well make a clean start."

* * *

The maître D at Magnifique greets Rick effusively and ushers him and Kate to a table. Rick slips him a hundred dollar bill.

"I see why he likes you so much."

"It's a well-known fact among fine diners, you skimp on a tip to Maurice, and you spend two hours at the bar waiting for a table. He's no more expensive than the cuisine, but it's usually worth it."

"When wasn't it worth it?"

"When Mother discovered that she'd developed an allergy to truffles and ended up in the emergency room. You don't have any food allergies that I should know about, do you?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I prefer the kind of truffles that come rolled in cocoa."

"I'll remember that."

Kate opens the menu. "There are no prices."

"If you have to ask, you can't afford it, but there are on mine. It's a throwback to less enlightened times. I told you the place is decadent."

"More like ignorant."

"About feminine sensibilities but not about gustatory nirvana. We could share a Chateaubriand."

"No, I think I'll order the pasta primavera. I've had my hot meat - at least for a while. But you never know. I might want a snack later."

"I believe I can accommodate that, and you won't even have to tip me."

"I can think of other ways of rewarding you for your service."

"I'm very much looking forward to that. So tell me. How do you feel about dessert trays?"

"I prefer the choices that are long, with cream coming out of the end."

"Like éclairs?"

"Those too."

Suddenly Rick wants to get through lunch and back to the loft as quickly as possible.


	55. Chapter 55

Stay in Touch

Chapter 55

Kate's phone dings as Rick is driving back to the loft. The cut of the slinky dress she's wearing allows no room for pockets, and it takes her a moment to dig the cell out of her purse and read the email on the screen.

Rick's eyes dart toward the passenger seat. "What's up?"

"It's from Jordan, Agent Shaw. She checked in with the doctors at Bellevue. Once Mochlin George was out of drag, he came out of his fugue state but started shouting about failing his Lord and needing to redeem himself on his holy mission. He claimed he was the only one who could hear the voice of God. They're going to run some tests, but there is something seriously wrong with the man's brain."

"That backs up the lone wolf theory. He doesn't need someone whispering in his ear. His instructions originate in a sick mind. Well that's a good thing, right? No chance of anyone else hearing that particular call."

"There are plenty of other calls out there, but you're right, Babe. With George locked away one way or another, the Feds can close the case."

"And you can stay away from bombs."

Kate's phone dings again. "That's strange. Captain Gates wants to see me."

"To present you with a laurel wreath perhaps?"

"She's not the laurel wreath type. Whatever it's about, I should get over there now. Can you drop me?"

"It's more than an hour until Alexis will be home. I'll wait for you. Whether it's kudos or undeserved brickbats, I'm behind you all the way. You know that, don't you?"

Kate leans across the console and lands a light kiss on his temple. "Yeah, Babe, I do."

* * *

Kate is motioned to the same chair she occupied on her last visit, by a wave of Gate's glasses. "Officer Beckett, the mayor and the commissioner have agreed that the N.Y.P.D. needs a new task force to combat threats like the one Mochlin George presented - perpetrators of crimes that rock the city but may not be terrorism-related. Now normally, places on a team like that would be reserved for detectives, and you won't even qualify to take the exam for two more years. However, given the considerable asset you've shown yourself to be not only on this case but concerning Bracken and Coonan, the mayor has instructed the department to bend the rules. You'll be appointed to the task force and given the opportunity to take the detective's exam as soon as you feel you're ready."

Kate struggles to digest Gates words. "So I'm off patrol?"

"Oh no, you'll be on patrol, at least until you pass your exam. But when another case of this nature emerges, you'll be a part of the team that attacks it."

"That's incredible! Thank you, Captain."

"Oh don't thank me. This just means you'll be working even harder. You may have even less time for that fiancé of yours. But if you want to consult with him again - on a totally unofficial basis, I doubt that anyone in the department will object."

"Yes, Sir. I will keep that in mind."

Rick is leaning against his car when Kate appears. "From the look on your face, I don't know if you're happy or shell-shocked."

"A little of both. I'll tell you about it on the way home."

"So we can work together again," Rick reiterates as he unlocks the door to the loft. "And you'll be Detective Beckett."

"If I pass the exam."

"I can't think of a test you wouldn't ace."

* * *

Rick hadn't expected to host another party until he and Kate tied the knot, but one is in full swing in the loft, now that Kate Beckett is the youngest detective in the history of the N.Y.P.D. At Kate's request, Rick abandoned any thought of karaoke, but he does have a DJ willing to take requests, and the furniture has been rearranged to allow enough room for enthusiastic dancing.

The denizens of the bullpen at the 12th Precinct where Kate received her desk are gyrating energetically, including the also newly assigned Esposito. Rick wasn't entirely sanguine about Kate issuing that particular invitation, but when Esposito showed up with his date, Bambi, Rick decided he didn't have much to worry about. The Latino cop's taste in cup sizes considerably exceeds Kate's endowment, which more than satisfies Rick.

Amid the celebration, Kate seems subdued, slowly sipping a flute of Champagne while just swaying to the music. "Something wrong?" Rick asks.

Kate shakes her head. "Not wrong, just unsettling. I'm wondering if I'm biting off more than I can chew."

After your thorough mastication of Bracken, Coonan, and George - wait that sounds like a law firm. No, but really Kate, you've probably saved more lives than anyone in this room already."

"We did that together."

"And we can continue to do it together. Maybe we can even formalize my consulting agreement a little more."

"What are you talking about?"

"I had lunch with Weldon, yesterday. Great ribs, by the way. We went up to a place in Harlem. But getting to the point, I asked him if he could arrange for me to shadow you - as research for my Nikki Heat books."

Kate raises her eyebrows. "That was your excuse?"

"It's a valid one. He can claim that it's great PR for the department. But between you and me, I want more time for us to be together. I'm still going to be here for Alexis, and for Mother too when she needs me, but you and I are the perfect team. I think we both know that. Peanut butter and jelly."

"Peanut butter and jelly," Kate agrees.

* * *

Kate settles behind her desk near the murder board. The chair next to it has seen better days, but Rick hasn't seemed to mind. He'll be occupying it again as soon as he's finished with a conference with Alexis' teacher. Alexis has been complaining that she's bored in class and they're putting their heads together to see what kind of extra enrichment the school can offer.

Kate can remember overhearing her parents talking about similar conferences when she was about Alexis' age, but Kate expects Rick's choices to be different from those her parents made. For one thing, Alexis is interested in exploring the mathematics of music. That's something Kate never considered, not even when she was at Stuyvesant, but Alexis has a fascination with it, encouraged by Leta Jones. Rick is, as always, for almost anything that will make his daughter happy.

He and Kate will be doing their best to make each other happy too. The upcoming weekend it will be warm enough to swim in the heated pool at the Hamptons, if not in the ocean. Alexis will be staying in the city with Martha, where she can be a cheering section at a musical rehearsal for her grandmother's latest foray into experimental theater.

Rick and Kate will have the beach house to themselves, much like the first time - except of course for the arrival of the wedding planner. Even with the relative simplicity of the ceremony Kate envisioned, there appears to be a multitude of details to discuss. The intricacies of choosing the right chairs and tables and flowers that are in season are not really something Kate has explored. She welcomes a reasonable amount of help to achieve the most perfect start she can have for her marriage.


	56. Chapter 56

Stay in Touch

Chapter 56

Rick unpacks a cooler into the refrigerator of the Hamptons house. "I could have had this stocked for us, but I'm glad you picked out your favorites, especially since we could get fresh strawberries. It presents all sorts of possibilities."

Kate winks at him. "I'm looking forward to it. I'm just hoping there isn't one of the task force's kind of crimes this weekend. I am on 24/7 call for those."

"Fingers crossed. Maybe the spring weather will inspire peaceful thoughts." He checks his watch. "We have an hour before the bearer of the thick binder and color-coded pages arrives. Want to go for a swim? I had the pool serviced, and the temperature turned up. It should be perfect, but I can adjust it to anything you want."

"I think I'd rather just put my feet up on one of those lounges and get some sun and some air with no diesel fumes in it for a while. And I won't have to worry about getting my hair dried before he comes."

"Sounds good to me - although you could just leave it wet. Your damp strands conjure up all sorts of fantasies of mermaids and naiads."

"You're mixing your mythologies and bodies of water, but we can have pool play later."

"I'll await your Siren call."

* * *

"Timothy (please not Tim) Palmer distributes copies of carefully laid out schedules - color coded as Rick had predicted. "We're three months out. I understand that you've already contacted the restaurant you want to cater the event."

"That's right," Rick confirms. "The owner, Mitney Schultz, confirmed that they are available on our date."

Timothy rolls his eyes. "We'll need to do a lot more than that. We need to lock in a contract, plan the menu with options for gluten-free, sugar-free, and vegan and make sure you've vetted the serving staff."

"They're all locals," Rick points out. "Most of them have worked for Mitney for years."

"Nevertheless, you're a celebrity, if a minor one. If Kate trips or a bridesmaid upchucks after too much Champagne, you don't want pictures ending up on Page 6.

"Now, about flowers. The type of tables you'll need for your setup here won't be banquet-sized, so you'll want your centerpieces to be small but with maximum impact."

"We were thinking of letting the guests take them home." Kate puts in.

"Good thought, but that means you'll need flowers that will last for at least a couple of days beyond the wedding. I'll consult with the florist about your best choices.

"I already have a company lined up for tables and chairs. Kate, I understand that you want live music for the ceremony and a DJ who can deliver Sinatra and a mix of contemporary music for dancing afterward."

Castle clears his throat. "Actually, the live music for the wedding will be delivered by my daughter. She's quite a talented violinist."

Timothy rolls his eyes again. "If that's what you want. I'll just handle the DJ. Now as far as the ceremony on the beach, we will need to caution your guests against any footwear that might be ruined by the sand. You could do that with an insert in the invitations. I can coordinate with the printer on that. And of course, Kate will have to keep it in mind as well. I know an outlet for fabulous sandals that will work for both the bride and maid of honor. I can get some samples that Kate can try on to coordinate with her dress. Rick, you said your mother has arranged for someone to work on something appropriate to both Kate's wishes and the venue."

This time it's Kate's eyes that roll. "Depending on Martha Rodgers' idea of appropriate. She made an appointment for me with her costumier on Monday night."

Timothy's mouth gapes. "Martha Rodgers! Rick, your mother is Martha Rodgers? I had no idea. I see every play she's in. I even got a video of the pilot of The Hulk. She is just sensational. Of course, she'll be at the wedding."

The crinkles at the corners of Rick's eyes stretch toward his cheeks. "I don't think a SWAT team could keep her away. I'll be happy to introduce you."

"That would be amazing." Timothy takes a deep breath. "I suppose that gives me enough for now."

"Would you like to take a swim in my pool before you go?" Rick asks. "I keep extra suits around for guests."

Timothy shudders. "No thank you." He looks at Kate as he fingers his artfully cut platinum hair. "Chlorine, you understand. And I have another appointment. Kate, we'll touch base after you know more about your dress?"

"I'll call you as soon as I get a chance," Kate agrees.

Timothy wanders to his car, repeating "Martha Rodgers," to himself. As soon as his car is down the drive, Rick and Kate lock glances, before falling onto a couch, laughing.

Rick wipes his eyes with his fingertips. "Who would have thought that Timothy Palmer, wedding planner extraordinaire would be Mother's number one fan?"

"He'll go out of his way to impress her," Kate speculates. "That will be good for us. And the sandals sound fantastic."

"You'd look adorable in flip flops. And if that's what the guests want to wear it's fine with me. They wouldn't be great for dancing, but we could have a box of them available for the ceremony. They could consider them wedding favors and remember us with every step. Not that you could ever be forgettable. So given that neither one of us is afraid our hair will turn the color of the grass, you want to go splash in the water now?"

"As soon as I can get my suit…" Kate's phone buzzes insistently. "I'm sorry, Babe, that's a task force alert. I need to get back to the city ASAP."

"Damn! Well, Detective Beckett, you warned me this could happen - the price for a closer crime-busting partnership. Still…"

"I know, Babe. Me too."

* * *

Kate joins the circle around Commander Forrester as he outlines the task force's mission. "This much you all probably know from the news media. At 5 a.m. there was an explosion in the basement of the Fremont hotel. It took out the two floors above it killing five people and injuring at least 40 more. Initially, it was attributed to either the heating system or the boiler since both were destroyed. As yet, that's still the official story, but the investigator from the fire department found some suspicious fragments. She's saying it's at least an 80 percent chance that an explosive device was involved. CSU is sifting through the wreckage for anything they can find to confirm or disprove that theory, but we are proceeding on the assumption that a bad actor caused the blast. You will be interviewing and gathering information on guests, staff, anyone who could have been involved. There may be an additional angle. Karl Kraven was staying at the Fremont. He is among the injured, and there are a lot of people who don't like him much."

Kate can't help thinking that not liking Karl Kraven much is an incredible understatement. The conspiracy theorist claimed that children who died in recent school shootings weren't students at all but actors who just pretended to be dead. Some grieving parents threatened to stuff his lying tongue down his throat or beat him to death with the type of assault rifle with which their sons and daughters were slaughtered. In either case, Kate suspects a jury would have a hard time convicting them. As sickening as the thought is, traumatized families form a pool of likely suspects. Questioning them will be heart-rending, and she can only imagine how Rick will react to the case.


	57. Chapter 57

Stay in Touch

Chapter 57

Rick's eyes harden as he vehemently shakes his head. "It's not the parents."

Kate lays her hand on his arm. "You don't know that, Babe. They had a motive to go after Kraven."

"That malevolent bloviator, yes. I've imagined strangling him myself, but not a hotel full of innocent people. After the grief those families have suffered, I just can't see them wanting to inflict it on someone else."

"There hasn't been a whisper of any terrorist group claiming responsibility or our task force wouldn't have the case. So, who?"

Rick gazes into the empty air of the loft. "If I were writing the story, Kraven would be the key, but not as a revenge killing - for the almighty dollar. The word is that his publisher turned down his last book. He's still the star attraction of his radio network, but his ratings have been falling. If a story goes out to his conspiracy-loving listeners that he was attacked by the very people he's been bleeding heart liberals write them of fraud, they will skyrocket again. You said it yourself, he was injured, but not too badly to sit in front of a microphone. He was on the fourth floor. The force of the blast barely touched him. Look at who stands to profit from the crime, and you will find your killer."

"I still have to interview the families of the school shooting victims, but I hope you're right."

"Do you want me with you when you question them."

"Maybe. They might be able to relate to you as a parent."

"As a father who would do anything to protect his child, I know I can relate to them."

* * *

"Is the story taking hold?" Roger Ailson, general manager of the Marsden radio network, asks his second in command Robert Vine.

Vine nods. "We had a few of our shills call in and propose it, so we could have our hosts follow up on it without it seeming like they were the ones throwing out accusations. Laura Graham did a great job picking up the ball. So did Ben Peck. Our listeners are already organizing a demonstration at the school where those children were 'allegedly,'" Vine curls his fingers in air quotes, "shot. It should get television coverage which will feed into our narrative."

Ailson claps Vine on the back. "Excellent! Has the money been deposited in the appropriate account?"

"Safe and sound in Cypress. By the time it re-enters the country it will be clean as a whistle with no connection to Marsden or any of our investors."

Ailson selects a cigar from the humidor on his desk and clips off the end with a stylized guillotine. "Good, good. Tell Karl I'm looking forward to seeing the numbers from his next broadcast." He reaches for his phone. "Never mind, I'll tell him myself."

* * *

Kate ushers Franklin Garibaldi into the lounge rather than the interrogation room and invites him to sit on the couch while she and Rick take chairs facing him. "Can we get you something, Mr. Garibaldi, water or coffee?"

Frank grips the edges of the sofa cushions. "I'm fine." He brings his fist down on his knee. "No, screw it, I'm not fine. I don't even understand why I'm here."

"Mr. Garibaldi," Kate asks as gently as she can, "are you aware of the explosion that took place at the Fremont hotel?"

Frank snorts. "You'd have to live in a cave not to be aware of it. I prayed for the victims, but at least no children died. I won't listen to the Marsden network, but I've heard about the theory being put out by Graham and Peck. It's pure garbage. I wasn't anywhere near the Fremont."

"Personally," Rick offers, "as a father if I had to go through a tenth of what you and the other parents had to endure from Kraven and his cohorts, I'd want to end his poisonous tirades for good."

"You have been in New York for the past week," Kate adds.

"Yes, on business. I own a plating shop. I've been talking to several jewelry makers about getting their business. I was staying with friends. You can ask them. I can document my meetings, and I used a credit card when I traveled by cab. You can check it all."

"We will, Mr. Garibaldi," Kate assures him.

Frank leans toward Rick. "Frankly, Mr. Castle, if Karl Kraven met his maker I would happily dance on his grave. That man causes more suffering with every word he speaks, but there has already been too much violence, too much loss. The last thing we need is any more."

* * *

Lyman Foster is feeling pretty good about himself and looking forward to the future. Treasonous traitors have been trying to come for his guns for years. He can't even carry one in the city where he lives. That's why he's been saving up to buy a home in Arizona, where a man can walk proudly with his weapon on his hip. He'll no longer need to count his pennies. He has the money. He'll just have to wait until he can get to it safely.

His job couldn't have been more gratifying. He's been doing maintenance for the Fremont for years, and during all that time, most of the customers have acted like he didn't exist. They tip the maid, the servers, and the bellmen, but he's been barely worth a passing glance, let alone a dollar or two.

The instructions he received for building a bomb were easy enough to follow after all his years of patching together outdated and broken down equipment and cleaning up the messes left by "guests." He could even buy everything he needed without question, and of course, no one would think twice about him being in the basement. He's had to spend a great deal of his time there.

Lymon's waiting to talk to the hot police detective. Too bad she's wearing an engagement ring. He'd love to try to get a piece of that. But she won't ask him anything he can't answer. He didn't know Karl Kraven or any of the guests personally. As far as anyone could ever tell, he was just going about his everyday business. And the early-morning eatery where he was grabbing steak and eggs when the Fremont blew, sees him at least once a week. He watches the crime shows, even if they are written by bleeding heart liberals. He knows how the cops pounce on a change of routine, so he's done nothing to attract attention, nothing at all. In a few months, he'll have his sun, and his guns and what happened at the Fremont will either be dismissed as an accident, or the cops will be flailing around in the dark. Either way, it's fine with him.

Detective Beckett smiles as she enters the room and takes the chair across the table from him. She is gorgeous but probably as dumb as she is beautiful. She lays a leather folder in front of her and scans through the pages. The bimbo most likely needs a cheat sheet to remember her questions. She smiles again as she looks up at him. "Mr. Foster, I believe a key was required to enter the basement of the Fremont hotel. Who besides you had access to the boiler?"

Lyman swallows. This may not be as easy as he thought.


	58. Chapter 58

Stay in Touch

Chapter 58

Lymon pulls at his collar. "The general manager has keys to everything. The shift managers do too."

"Anyone else?" Kate inquires. "The cleaning staff perhaps - or should I ask your general, or should I say, former general manager. He's not a happy camper that he's out of a job."

"No one else had keys," Lymon admits.

"Do you think any of the managers might have the skills to make and set a bomb?' Kate presses.

"How the hell would I know? People learn all kinds of things."

"All right, Mr. Foster. Let's go at this from another angle. All of the managers have alibis for the time a bomb would have been planted. The ones in charge of the day and swing shift, including the general manager were home with their families. That's been verified. The night manager never left the lobby, except for a couple of short trips to the men's room. That's been verified too. That leaves you."

"I was having breakfast at Tanis, three blocks away when the Fremont blew. I always eat there. They know me. There are witnesses."

"I'm sure there are, but that's irrelevant Mr. Foster. You see, our crime lab pieced together fragments of a detonator - the kind that can be activated from a short distance away, within a range of about four blocks. You could have easily pushed the button between bites."

Lymon can feel his shirt soaking across his back and under his arms. "I'm not going to answer any more questions. I want a lawyer."

Kate nods. "Mr. Foster, you're going to need one."

* * *

The sound of Roger Ailson's fist pounding his mahogany desk echoes through his office. Robert Vine instinctively takes a step back. "I sent a lawyer up to take care of Foster, with instructions to tell him that he'll get the help he needs as long as he keeps his mouth shut. If he flips, he's up shit creek."

"He's up it now," Roger points out. "The police have enough evidence to put him away for life, and he knows it. He's not some celebrity with a sympathetic jury. There are demonstrators near the Fremont suggesting that he gets put away for life. We've been using the video as PR for Kraven. If Foster decides to spill his guts, despite what our lawyer tells him, we'll be going down with him. We need a contingency plan. If we work this right, Kraven could pick up even more of an audience."

"What do you want to do?"

"I'll take care of it. Nobody can ask you to tell what you don't know."

* * *

"You have a fitting tonight, don't you?" Rick asks.

Kate tears the last leaf of lettuce for the salad. "Yeah. Sophia is going too to get her maid of honor dress pinned up. Choosing her will go a long way to keeping peace with Aunt Theresa."

"Would you have rather chosen someone else?"

"Maybe Marica as a matron of honor, or my new friend Lanie Parish, you know, the medical examiner. We've been getting to know each other really well. I think Esposito's got a crush on her."

"A medical examiner? Doesn't sound like his type unless she keeps a stripper pole hidden away in the morgue somewhere."

"Maybe he wants to move up in the world. He finds every remotely plausible excuse to go see her."

"Good for him. If he's mooning after her, he won't be leering at you."

"He doesn't leer at me, at least not lately, and he is taking the call tonight if a body drops."

"I may get to like the man, yet. Anything new happening with the Fremont case?"

"From what I hear, the D.A. offered a deal to Lymon Foster. His lawyer rejected it, but Foster himself seems to be wavering. If he flips, we could find out who's really behind the bombing."

"I still think it's all about Kraven."

"You may be right, but so far we have no evidence that's true. Foster's lawyer had some minor dealings with the Marsden network, but that could be a coincidence."

"Foster chooses a lawyer connected with the one organization that could benefit from the bombing? That doesn't sound like a coincidence to me."

"Me either," Kate admits, "but until I have some hard evidence, I'll have to treat it as one. Is the wine ready?"

"It has breathed deeply and well, which means Mother should be showing up any second."

"She wants to go with me to the fitting. Something about an artist's eye."

"I hope she doesn't enjoy too much of the wine or she won't be able to focus it. You know, Alexis is sleeping over at Paige's tonight. It would be a shame if you were gone too long for us to indulge in private amusements, particularly since I believe mother will be engaged in studying new changes to her script."

Kate sucks the juice from a cherry tomato. "It would be a shame at that."

* * *

Grimacing at a final bite of what passes for food on Rikers, Lymon Foster makes a decision. Despite what his attorney keeps insisting. He can't see an upside to maintaining his silence. He's going to tell the D.A. everything he can. It's not much, but he does know how he was first approached to plant the bomb at the Fremont. He also knows how he was paid. The cops have ways of tracing bank transfers. He's seen them do it on TV a lot.

If he has to be in prison, he should be able to make a deal to be away from the worst of the other prisoners. He's seen too many stories of good looking men being used for sex by prison shot-callers. He doesn't look as good as he did in his twenties, but all the heavy lifting he's had to do has made him tight. His hair barely has any gray, and his face is still pretty handsome. No way does he want to be some perv's girlfriend. If the D.A. just promises that he can serve his time without having to keep his ass to the wall, it will be worth telling him anything he wants to know.

From across the mess, Gregor Marchik regards his prey. He won't use a knife, but then he doesn't need one - and blood complicates a kill. One crushing blow to the windpipe and Foster will be silent forever. He just has to find the right place and time. It could even be that night. All he'll require is a second alone with his target, out of the range of a surveillance camera, and it will be done. Gregor just needs to be alert to the right moment. It seems a shame that he will have to terminate Foster so quickly. He's seen the new prisoner gaze lovingly at the other guards' guns. Men like that always believe that firearms give them power. Gregor would love to have more time to show him what real power is; knowing how to cause endless pain in hundreds of ways with no weapons but your hands. He can feel himself getting hard, thinking about the sound of Foster's screams. But there will be no time to deliver that lesson. He'll perform his mission and find other enjoyment later.


	59. Chapter 59

Stay in Touch

Chapter 59

Kate is trying her best to keep still on the platform where Mimi DuFarge has perched her, while Martha circles eying every stitch of what Mimi proclaimed to be a simple gown.

To Kate, it's not so simple. True, it's of an ivory-colored sleek, silky fabric, as she had requested, and follows the lines of her curves exactly, yet will allow her the freedom to dance. The length is also short enough to keep it out of the sand, but the entire bodice is covered in tiny shimmery beads, which will match a band on the wide-brimmed hat she'll be wearing. It's not an outfit she'd normally pick for a walk on the beach, but this is a walk that, God willing, she will be taking only once.

When Martha declares the gown a masterpiece, Kate steps down in relief while Sophia steps up. Sophia's dress, in pale lavender, is the same cut as Kate's but with a lot fewer beads. Her hat will be similar as well, but with a narrower brim and dyed to match her dress. Mimi makes a few adjustments to compensate for Sophia's recent crash diet, but the session is over quickly. Kate imagines that Mimi is accustomed to rapid tailoring to make last minute adjustments for cast changes or weight losses.

She glances at her watch as she changes back into her T-shirt and jeans. She and Rick will have time to enjoy the evening - and clothes will be the last thing on their minds.

* * *

Rick pries his eyes away from the expensive timepiece on his wrist. It's two minutes later than the last time he looked. He has to admit that he hasn't been waiting long. He filled most of the period of Kates foray into the world of tucks and tape measures with readying things for their evening. He carefully hulled strawberries even more beautiful than the ones they never got to eat on their truncated weekend in the Hamptons and put fresh, vanilla scented sheets on the bed. Kate's favorite candles are burning in several places around the bedroom and in the bathroom too - just in case that's her choice of venue at some point in their adventures. He has Sinatra ready to pipe through the sound system. All he needs is Kate.

Rick's still startled when the door of the loft swings open and Kate leaps at him, circling his neck with her arms and his waist with her legs. "I take it the fitting went well?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

Rick complies before striding to the bedroom, with Kate still wrapped around him. "Getting a little pushy, are we? A tad of bridezilla setting in? Problems with the gown?"

"The dress is fine, but after Mimi was finished with us, Sophia wouldn't shut up about a problem she has with her boyfriend. I suppose she wanted some advice from someone with a ring on her finger except that I don't know the guy, so I wasn't sure what to tell her. I just wanted to get out of there."

"What's their problem?"

Kate turns the color of the coat Rick gave her for Christmas. "Um. He doesn't know how to… He doesn't know where…"

Rick grins. "I get the picture. I wouldn't know if that's something fathers teach their sons since I didn't have one. And it sure isn't anything I learned in school. Honestly, a woman has to ask for what she wants, Kate. That's obviously nothing you have a problem with. If the man doesn't know how to please her, Sophia needs to show him. Believe me, unless he's a complete jerk she should ditch anyway, they'll both be happier for it - much happier. So is there something you would like to show me?"

Kate rubs the tip of her shoe against the firmness of his butt cheeks. "I might be able to think of something."

Kate slowly detaches herself from Rick as he leans over the bed. "The first thing I want is for you to get your ass down here with me."

"Just my ass? Kinky!"

Kate reaches up to pull him on top of her. "And stop talking."

Rick couldn't get another word out if he wanted to as their lips collide. He unsnaps Kate's jeans and pushes them down her legs. She kicks them away, while she works on loosening his pants. They lose contact just long enough to shed their tops. Rick regards Kate's bare breasts with admiration. No bra. She doesn't really need one except for propriety's sake. Her muscles are more than strong enough to prevent even the hint of a sag. And propriety is the last thing on either of their minds. He slips his hand beneath the last silky barrier, seeking what has apparently eluded Sophia's partner. It immediately firms beneath his fingers, even as Kate frees him from the prison of his boxers. She moans, pulling her offending underthing out of the way and arching upward to deepen Rick's touch.

Kate's thighs are parting of their own accord, begging Rick to fill the emptiness between them. She is slick and hot as he accepts the plea, thrusting deeply as her hips rise even higher.

The bed creaks beneath them in time to the age-old rhythm of their joining. Mouths still melded, their tongues entwine, release, and seek each other again. Sweat coats their bodies as they roll together on the coverlet, hands exploring every sensitive square inch of skin, as the shockwave hits. They cling tightly as it thunders through them, before drifting into slumber.

Rick groans as Kate's cell phone buzzes. "Damn! I thought Esposito was supposed to be taking the calls tonight."

Kate listens briefly to the voice on the other end before conveying her answer to Rick. "He is, but this isn't just a body drop. It's task force business. Lymon Foster is dead."

* * *

Karl Kraven is behind the microphone in a broadcasting booth. That's his favorite place to be - maybe even more than in bed with a hot woman. It's a few seconds before six a.m. His audience on the East Coast is getting up. Some of them are even out on the road and waiting for his voice to come through the speakers in their cars. He's not about to disappoint them.

Karl nods at his producer as he goes live. "As I've said many times, I believe that the tragedy at the Fremont was a failed attempt to keep me from getting the truth out about the duplicity of the gun haters. They manipulated a pawn named Lymon Foster to do their dirty work. Now they want to cover their tracks and try again to scare me into silence. I promise you now that it will not work. It will never work. I will fight for the foundation of freedom in this country with my every breath. I will not be fooled or let you be fooled either. Together we will wage war for our rights, and even if my gun is someday wrenched from my cold, dead hand, I know that you will pick up the banner and continue the battle. Our forefathers struggled to win our freedom, and we will never allow it to be taken from us through any conspiracy or deception by the mainstream media. Now, I'm ready to take your calls."


	60. Chapter 60

Stay in Touch

Chapter 60

"Any clues to who took Lymon Foster out?" Rick asks as he hands Kate a frosty beer.

"There might be," she answers before taking a swig. "The M.E. found a drop of saliva on Foster's shirt that from the position, didn't appear to be his. Apparently, the lab has to amplify it or something to get an ID, but we may have one by tomorrow."

"Do you think one of the other prisoners might have done it?"

"I don't know. No one heard anything. A single blow to the windpipe killed Foster. If he were taken by surprise, he would have had time to cry out. Whoever did it had skills. That might have included some of the prisoners, but the violent ones are mostly streetfighters. They'd be more likely to shank him, and they wouldn't necessarily be so neat about it. Part of the team is reviewing the surveillance video between Foster's cell and where he was found. Something might pop up. Otherwise, we'll have to wait for the lab results."

"Just as well you'll have time tonight. Timothy Palmer requested a meeting. He has the sandals samples he promised you and wants to go over the flower arrangements. He said something about self-watering pots for African violets.

Kate palms her forehead. "I hope they work. My mother tried to keep African violets, but they kept dying on her. My father said it made her humble because it was one of the few things at which she had absolutely no success."

"Have you ever tried to keep plants yourself"' Rick queries.

"A couple of times when I was in college. They turned brown when I looked at them. I think I inherited my mother's black thumb. You?"

"I had a roommate who… never mind. That's not a story I should be telling a cop. I have a landscaping service for the Hampton's house, but the only living thing I've concentrated on raising is Alexis, and during the early months I wasn't always sure she'd survive my efforts."

"Meredith didn't help at all?"

"She breastfed her for the first few weeks. I think she enjoyed the temporary increase in her measurements. She had a bunch of new photographs taken for her portfolio. But the rest of it was all mine. I didn't mind doing it, but I was nervous as hell for at least a year. The first time Alexis spiked a fever I was sure she was going to die of pneumonia or something. It turned out it was an ear infection, and antibiotics took care of it. She was fine, but after a couple of all-nighters with an almost inconsolable baby, I was a wreck. Mother was on the road, and I really could have used the help of a partner."

Kate cups his cheek. "If we have children together, I promise that you'll have one."

Rick gathers her into his arms, just as Alexis stomps down the stairs. Rick looks up at her. "What's wrong, Pumpkin?"

Mary Alice Simpkins and I were supposed to be doing our history project together, studying the Native Americans in New York City and across the river. I've been doing the Canarsee of the Lenape. She was supposed to be looking up stuff on the Lenni-Lenape, but she spent all her time playing Barbie with Susan Werner, and she didn't do anything on our project at all. We're both supposed to get the same grade, so I need to do Mary Alice's work too, or we both fail. It's not fair."

"I had a couple of girls I was supposed to work with when I was in school," Kate sympathizes. "We were a little older, so it was boy bands, not Barbies, but I still ended up doing all the work. But you know what? When we had to write final papers, they were in trouble because they didn't know how to organize their time to get things done. In the end, they hurt themselves more than they hurt me. You'll be working harder now, but trust me, it will make things easier for you later."

Rick moves across the room to kiss his daughter's forehead. "I've done my share of projects too. Check out the Weequahic area in Newark. It was named after the Lenni-Lanape word for 'head of the cove.' That should help. But speaking of organizing time, we'd better get some food into us before our master planner makes his appearance. Linguine Alfredo? That's quick."

Kate nods. "You get the water boiling. I'll start the roux."

* * *

Rick points to a shoe as Kate examines the sandals Timothy Palmer laid out. "The warrior style fits your personality."

"And they'll stay on while I dance," Kate muses.

"They would look stunning in gold," Timothy suggests.

Kate shakes her head. "Too much?" Rick asks.

"How about ivory to match your dress?" Timothy proposes. "They would make a statement while you maintained your elegance."

Kate nods. "Better. But Sophia would like a pair she can keep to wear to work or church, with a little less of a statement."

Timothy indicates the last sample. "A loafer slingback, simple and adaptable."

Kate picks up a shoe and turns it over in her hands. "Yeah, I think she'll go for these."

"On to the pièce de resistance," Timothy exclaims, pulling a stack of ceramic pots out of his carryall, "the African violet pots. The water here, flowers there, the perfect presentation. Your guests will love them."

Kate fingers the gaily painted crockery. "I think they will."

"Outstanding!" Rick declares. "Sold! Any other consideration before we wrap for the evening?"

"Just a reminder that I've scheduled you two for a cake tasting." Timothy hands Kate a card with an address and time on it. "We were lucky enough to snag Miranda. She studied under Carol Vicenti, and you're very fortunate to have her. Be sure to be there on time, or you'll lose your slot. I'll give you both a reminder call." He glances at his ring watch. "I have another meeting tonight. Just don't miss your chance with Miranda."

Kate rubs her finger over her bottom lip after Timothy has departed the loft. "Carol Vicenti, isn't she the mean judge on the cake decorating competitions?"

Rick's eyebrow rises. "You never cease to amaze me. I wouldn't have thought you'd be into that sort of thing. I caught one of them when they were doing a Star Wars contest. Someone made an animated cake which had Darth Vader and Obi-Wan dueling with lightsabers that lit up. Very cool. What attracted your attention?"

"I was thinking about something for my father's birthday, so I watched a sports-themed show. But the baseball cake was so complicated I couldn't see him going for it. Carol didn't like it much either. So if she trained Miranda, maybe there's some hope that she'll keep things simple - as long as it tastes terrific."

Rick dips his finger in imaginary frosting and sucks on it. "Totally with you there. We will make doubly sure we don't miss our cake date."

* * *

Marla Waters stares at her DNA results, her stomach twisting. With the limited pool of suspects that the inmates at Rikers represent, it should have been straightforward to get a match, even with the amplification required. But there isn't one for a definitive number of markers. That's ominous for law enforcement. All of the prisoners should be in the database. There's only one answer, and the higher-ups aren't going to like the bad press it could generate. The DNA had to come from a corrections officer.


	61. Chapter 61

Stay in Touch

Chapter 61

"So the killer is one of the guards?' Rick queries, settling into his chair next to Kate's desk.

Kate swallows a sip of the triple espresso. "It looks that way. So far, none of them have run, which would have been an easy tip-off. And they aren't in the DNA database. We have our numbers guy going through financials of any of them that would have had access to Foster. The video was a bust, so there's not much else we can do."

"How about cases here?"

There was one hit and run, but Esposito managed to find a banged up car on the traffic footage a couple of blocks away. We pulled in the driver and CSU is going over the vehicle for evidence."

"So you're in a lull?"

"Mmm. How's your book coming?"

"I sent off two chapters this morning in preparation for today's momentous event."

"What momentous event?"

"Didn't you get Timothy's barrage of emails? We have our cake tasting with Miranda today, at one o'clock. I figured I might take you to a quick lunch first, so we don't confound our reactions with hunger."

"Yeah, right, sure."

"For someone who would otherwise be having a sandwich at her desk while doing paperwork, you don't look too enthusiastic. As long as I've known you, you've always had an appreciation for primo pastry. What's going on?"

"The case is getting to me, I guess. I've hated it every time someone who's supposed to be on the right side of things turns out to be dirty - like Holliwell. Whoever took out Foster is just the latest."

"Kate, law enforcement is not an apple barrel. Finding a few bad ones doesn't mean that the rest of you aren't working your asses off every day for the residents of this city. There are people alive right now who wouldn't be if not for you and your compatriots."

"You're not such a slouch yourself, Babe. When I've been stuck, you've always given me the push I needed, even if it was just in a letter or an email."

"My very great pleasure. After all, look where it's gotten me. I'm planning a wedding with the most remarkable woman on the force. So, what do you say; a quick burger at Remy's and we make our appointment with the miraculous Miranda?"

"Make it a hot dog at Nathan's, and you've got a deal."

* * *

Kate surveys the array of small confection-bearing plates before her. She probably shouldn't have gone for a second hot dog. Rick points to one offering. "Is that lemon?"

Miranda nods. "Lemon with cardamom, with cream cheese frosting."

Rick grimaces. "I think we can eliminate that one right away. I love citrus as much as the next fellow, but I don't like that kind of imagery starting off our marriage."

"And Aunt Theresa is allergic to cardamom," Kate adds, taking a small forkful of another sampling. "Oh my God! What is this?"

Miranda beams. "Banana with cinnamon and butterscotch bits and brown sugar buttercream frosting. It's unique to my shop."

Kate extends a bite to Rick. "Taste this. It's incredible!"

"That is exceptional, but I would have expected you to aim more toward the strawberry cream."

"Sophia's allergic to strawberries, but she loves bananas."

Castle squelches the comment threatening to erupt from his lips.

"How about the groom's cake?" Miranda inquires, handing a tiny slice to him. "This is dark chocolate espresso with mocha fudge frosting."

Rick savors the rich flavors. "That is outstanding."

He offers some to Kate. "Wow! That is amazing!"

"So we have our winners?" Rick prompts.

Kate rounds her lips with the tip of her tongue. "We do."

Miranda waves at a row of glass cases, each holding a mock-up of a cake. "How would you like it decorated?"

Together, Kate and Rick slowly study the displays until Kate inclines her head at one. "I like this, with the figures of the bride and groom holding hands on top of the tiers and no flowers. It's kind of like the steps we had to climb to be together. And the groom's cake should be simple too."

"There is beauty in simplicity," Miranda agrees. "Very well, I'll prepare an estimate and get it to Timothy. He can coordinate delivery."

Kate's phone dings an alert, and she quickly scans an email. "Something popped from the financials."

Rick thanks Miranda over his shoulder as Kate rushes toward the door.

* * *

Kate stares at the picture attached to a file. "Gregor Marchik. He's been a guard at Rikers for eight years. There were several accusations of excessive force, but none of them were backed up in investigations. A steady stream of credit card charges to Club BTB. The address isn't far from Dungeon Alley, but I've never heard of it."

Rick's eyebrows shoot skyward. "You know about Dungeon Alley?"

"Mike passed on some stories he heard from Vice. Every so often they tried unsuccessfully to bust the owners of some of the establishments there. The services they sold might have been disgusting and depraved, but they never crossed the line to illegal. How do you know about it?"

"Research for a character I was considering for one of my books, but I went another direction. It's hard to write what I can't internalize, and I don't understand getting off on pain, mine or someone else's, although I could make an exception for agonized screams from Bracken or Coonan."

"Me too," Kate confesses. "Apparently Marchik must be into that sort of thing. If you put that together with the complaints and most likely a lot of other abuses that went unreported…" Kate closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"Heck of a guy," Rick finishes. "But that doesn't make him a murderer."

Kate taps a line of figures with her fingernail. "No, but this might. An infusion of cash from an account in Cypress funneled through a bank that handles real estate transactions in New York and has been tagged for money laundering. And Lymon Foster had transactions that went through the same two banks, but in the opposite direction."

Rick leans in to get a better look at the page. "Where did they originate?"

"Looks like an institution in Charlotte, North Carolina, home of the headquarters of the Marsden Radio Network."

Rick strokes an imaginary beard. "An interesting confluence. Very interesting indeed."

"It still doesn't prove murder," Kate muses. "But I don't want to tip Marchik off too soon. I'll question all the guards in Foster's block. That way Marchik won't know we're singling him out. And we should be able to get a DNA sample without him getting suspicious."

"The invaluable water bottle or used coffee cup?"

"Whatever works," Kate declares.

"I wish I could witness the festivities, but Alexis will be arriving home soon, and I promised to take her to the Museum of the American Indian, a misnomer that it may be, to pick up some materials for her history project. It closes at five, so she and I are going to have to move our little Castle tails."

"One of the Castle tails isn't so little, but it gives me something to hold on to."

"Yes, we can discuss the advantages of the generous male gluteus maximus, or perhaps you can demonstrate your feminine appreciation, later."

Kate gooses the body part in question as he turns toward the elevator. "I'm looking forward to it."

A/N I have a new The Rookie one-shot. It takes place after Manhunt and is called, "The Date."


	62. Chapter 62

Stay in Touch

Chapter 62

Kate quickly takes in the contents of her computer screen before turning to Rick in his accustomed seat next to her desk. "The DNA results are back on Marchik. The saliva found on Lymon Foster came from him."

"So, now what do you do? Send a squad in to get him at the prison, or have the officers there arrest him?"

"He's armed. Either way, prisoners and prison personnel could get caught in the crossfire. It's better if I just have him watched until he sheds his gear and leaves work. If we catch him at his apartment when he's not expecting it, there's a lot less chance that anyone will get hurt. I need to coordinate with the task force. You should go home. I can't let you shadow me when we take him down. The bastard enjoys killing and inflicting pain, and according to his record, he has army ranger training. There's no telling what he might try if he spots a civilian."

"I understand, but I detest knowing that you're going up against this guy, even if you have a small army with you."

"I'll be fine."

"Just wear your Kevlar and all that other tactical stuff Esposito schooled you in. I don't want a hospital chaplain officiating at our wedding - and I really hate funerals."

Kate brushes her fingertips over his face. "I'm not crazy about them either."

* * *

Roger Ailson gazes around his office, trying to think if he's forgotten anything. His plans seem to be going well. Karl Kraven's ratings have been rising steadily, and Lymon Foster will tell no tales. Gregor Marchik did good work, as he has before, and as far as Marsden has been able to pick up from any of its New York stringers is not a person of interest in Foster's death. Still, discretion is often the better part of valor, and a vacation in the Maldives will be both restful and out of the reach of extradition. If the police remain clueless, he can come back. He just has to convince his wife that she can do without seeing the grandchildren for a while. He could go by himself. There are always women attracted to wealth and power, and willing to satisfy the needs of men possessing them. But a vacation with his wife will look less suspicious, and he wants his departure to go as unnoted as possible. It shouldn't take more than a day or two to get Lizzie to come around.

* * *

There are a couple of moments that Marchik is afraid he is being followed. A car is in his rear view mirror on the bridge from Rikers, but it peels off after a few miles. Another one stays behind him for 20 blocks, closer to his apartment, but that one turns into a side street. He reaches his flat without incident.

It's easy for Gregor to convince himself that the swift dispatch of Lymon Foster can't be connected to him. He left no evidence, and the cops paid no more attention to him than to any of the other guards. And he'll be moving on soon. He has a place picked out in Nevada where he knows he'll be able to get whatever he wants whenever he wants it without worrying about overenthusiastic vice cops.

The escrow will be closing in a few days, and his New York bank has been very helpful in streamlining the process. In less than two weeks he'll be enjoying his new life, courtesy of the minor mogul in Charlotte who has found much more rewarding work for him over the years, than his job at Rikers.

He can feel the vibration of a force mounting the stairs before he hears them coming to the door of his apartment. He's only on the second floor. He can go out a window and escape through the alley, but when he looks below the sill, he realizes that the route is blocked. He opens the custom cabinet that holds his cache of weapons and grabs a rifle, just as a battering ram takes down his reinforced door. He is outgunned and has nowhere to fall back.

* * *

The look on Kate's face when she enters the loft tells Rick all. "You got him!"

"We did. Marchik had an arsenal, but he knew he didn't have a chance. He never fired a shot, and we made sure that we had enough restraints on him that he couldn't do anything else."

"Did he give up the identity of whoever hired him to kill Foster?"

"Not yet. He was smart enough to ask for a lawyer, but I'm sure he'll make a deal. If he doesn't, he will end up confined with inmates who were previously subjected to his supervision."

"Who may be glad to see him - in the worst way."

"I'm hoping that's what he'll be afraid of. How's Alexis' project going?"

"That was an abrupt change of topic, but she's just about wrapped it up. She got what she needed at the museum. They had some video of Lenni-Lenape drumming, singing and dancing that she is going to play when she makes her presentation. Not exactly the classical violin pieces to which she's become accustomed, but she thinks the rhythms are interesting."

"Sounds good. How is this all going to work out with the Barbie-loving Mary Alice Simkins?"

Rick grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "That's the best part. The teacher told Alexis that the class will get a chance to ask questions of both girls about the project. I believe that Mary Alice's lack of participation will be exposed. Even if it doesn't affect her grade this time around, her slacker tendencies will promote a healthy skepticism about her level of effort in any future projects. There may be an outcome from the next parent-teacher contest that she will find distressing as well."

"Is that the writer in you trying to say she's screwed, with as high a word count as possible?"

Rick sticks out his lower lip. "I resemble that remark. Let's just say it will be a teachable moment. And speaking of teachable moments, Timothy Palmer says it's way past the time we should have finished our list of invitees to the wedding. The design for the invitations has been finalized, but he needs at least an approximate count for the printer. The recyclable stock is custom, and if it runs out, there won't be time to order more. Have you been working on your part of it?"

"There wasn't much to work on. It's my family and close friends - plus the bullpen."

"How many is that?"

Kate searches for an answer in the hardwood floor, which remains unresponsive. "I don't know. I'll get on it. I promise. How about you?"

"My family is a very short list. I have my poker buddies; Gotham and fellow writers. I want to invite my editor and my agent. They've both run interference for me with Gina. That's about 20, give or take, but I need to finalize my list too. Tell you what. You and I can kick back over dinner, which by the way will include indigenous squash and fish, while Alexis fills you in on all the details of her quest for Native American knowledge. Then we can sweat out our final counts over coffee and the good cookies, together. No Mary Alice Simkinses here."

"Deal."


	63. Chapter 63

Stay in Touch

Chapter 63

Gregor desperately needs to inflict pain. He should have fought back against the tactical squad. Even if he lost, he would have seen bullets burn through flesh and immersed himself in the sounds of suffering. Segregated as he is now, he can't hear even a whimper. There is one person he can reach without a weapon or landing a blow - Roger Ailson. The agony won't be as sweet if he can't see it and breathe it in, but at least he'll know it's there. That will be better than pacing the confines of his cell with no relief of the need threatening to engulf him.

* * *

As his driver loads the luggage into the trunk, Roger Ailson urges Lizzy into the limousine. The bar is fully stocked, and he's looking forward to enjoying the trip. Lizzy took some convincing. They'll be missing the birthday party for their youngest granddaughter, but the one-year-old will never remember, and they bought an impressive number of presents.

Their house in the Maldives will be fully staffed and provide every comfort. Lizzy can do the water aerobics she loves in the indoor pool or indulge in expertly prepared local cuisine. For himself, there is a very exclusive club he plans to visit. The entry fee is steep, but he's heard from two discerning acquaintances that the amusements are well worth the price.

Traffic up ahead is slowing down. Roger glances at his Rolex, but time isn't really an issue. His private jet will take off whenever he is ready, and he won't have to endure the security lines and luggage checks commercial flyers face. He and Lizzy won't even have to go through customs. The inspector will come to them and at most, ask only cursory questions.

Roger presses the button for the intercom when the limousine halts for several minutes. "What's the problem, Jamal?"

Jamal's voice roughens from its passage through the speaker. "It's some type of roadblock, Sir. None of the cars are being held long. It shouldn't delay us much. Roger makes a mental note that when he returns he'll order a better sound system. He's about to pour a drink when he sees the State Troopers up ahead. His fingers tighten around his glass.

* * *

"Roger Ailson is a pretty big fish," Rick offers.

"Apparently his network seems to think so. Every one of the Marsden hosts is demanding his immediate release. But we're finishing up the paperwork with North Carolina, to be able to get him back here. Once Marchik flipped on him, our numbers guys had no trouble tying him to the payments for the murder of Foster. Also, the money put into an account for Foster was handled by Robert Vine, Ailson's second in command. We had him picked up too. Since the bombing and the murder involved both interstate and international transactions, both Ailson and Vine will be facing Federal charges as well. The higher-ups will have to work that out, but those two will be hit first with whatever delivers the most severe penalty, and once they get life, whatever else is tagged on won't matter much. Ailson will die behind bars and Vine probably will too."

"You know, when you come down to it, taking Ailson out of the picture may mean a lot more than getting murderers off the streets," Rick muses. "Marsden radio network has a massive influence on the politics of this country. Its message has fueled the rise of the right and overpowered a lot of opposing voices. We may see a real shift in the next election.

"If that happens, I know Bob Weldon would be ecstatic to take advantage of it. He's term-limited as mayor and sees his next step as running for governor. Fighting the influence of Marsden in the more rural areas upstate would make that a tough, not to mention expensive campaign. The fall of Roger Ailson may mean the rise of Bob Weldon."

"That would be years from now," Kate notes, "but considering the way that the kind of army of lawyers a man like Ailson hires can delay having a case heard and will file any possible appeals, things might time out just about right. It's going to be my responsibility along with the rest of the task force to see that his attorneys can't find any holes in the case to exploit."

"So you're still going to be busy for a while. Your duties won't interfere with our wedding, will they?"

Kate stretches over her desk for a kiss. "No way I'm going to let them."

* * *

Kate lifts her face toward the warmth of the June sun and feels the coolness of wet sand beneath her bare feet. "It's wonderful that Alexis was able to schedule her session at music camp so she'll be able to be here to play for our wedding."

"A contribution to the camp foundation, over and above tuition, and my daughter's prodigious talent, didn't hurt on that score either. The administrator was willing to make an accommodation. I also promised to send a video of Alexis in action. I've no idea why the camp wants it. Perhaps they'd like to inspire other young musicians to seek wedding gigs. Which leaves us here with the house all to ourselves, to plan and to dream."

"Do you think we could plan and dream in the kitchen? I'm starved."

"Whatever by bride-to-be desires." Rick leads the way to the wood steps connecting the beach to his grounds.

Kate strides ahead of him across broad green lawn and slides open a glass door leading to the kitchen area. She peers in as she opens the door to the refrigerator. "Rick, what's all of this?"

"Sample food for the celebration of our marriage. There are mainstream offerings for the buffet and then the vegan and gluten-free choices. That blue and white container is from Beth Lechem. Shapiro recommended it to Tim. One of the writers in my regular gang keeps kosher. It makes sense. He was a protégé of Harry Kellerman. You know, fill in the blank with a day, the rabbi, then fill in the blank again."

"Yeah, my Dad was very fond of Rabbi Small books. He said all the Talmudic discussions were great lessons in logic. It makes sense. What he likes best about baseball are the statistics."

"But you and your mother went another way with yours truly."

"I can be logical," Kate protests, "I just enjoy the action more."

Rick cups her tempting derriere. "I never would have known. So what do you want to dig into? Kosher, twigs and grass, celiac friendly, or no niche?"

"Can we try a little of each?"

"No doubt the various groups would view that as defeating the point, but sure. One Caskett wedding smorgasbord coming up."

"Caskett?"

"Our celebrity couple designation, for Castle and Beckett and the whole murder thing. I would put you first and suggest Katic, but it sounds too much like a feline coughing up a fur ball."

"I don't know. I think it has a ring to it, like 'I caught Katic making love in my attic.'"

"I might be able to get behind that view of it, but perhaps we should just let 'shipper' names go."

"Just as long as we don't let each other go."

Rick pulls Kate in for a kiss. "Never."


	64. Chapter 64

Stay in Touch

Chapter 64

Rick can picture Tim Palmer as a drum major, leading a tuba player to dot the "I" in Ohio, as he wrangles the laying down of a portable dance floor, the arrangement of a buffet table, and the distribution of African violets pots. Emboldened by her holiday experience, Alexis volunteered to fold all the napkins, an activity Tim also insisted on overseeing.

When the inevitable crisis arises of a frantic call from the road that a delivery van has broken down, Tim immediately phones a contact at a rental agency to deliver a truck roadside, and organizes the preservation and transfer of the food the van was transporting, to the new vehicle. Rick will be signing the check for Tim's hefty fee without hesitation.

Earlier, Rick noticed his mother fingering a jewelry case in her purse while muttering about a worthy woman. Martha Rodgers had never offered adornments, or much else to Meredith, not that the younger actor hadn't plenty of her own. But the diva has been showing an increasing attachment to Kate; one Rick hopes bodes well for the future of his family.

Jim Beckett had seemed at loose ends, until best man, Bob Weldon, suggested they watch a replay of the All-Star Game on the big screen TV in the house. Getting them out again for the ceremony may present a challenge, but Rick is sure the unsinkable Tim Palmer will be up to the task.

Kate is spending her last hours as a single, in the largest guest bedroom of the beach house with Sophia, Theresa, and Martha. Rick has apprehensions about what might be going on in the intensely feminine domain. Martha volunteered to do the bride's and maid of honor's makeup with a firm insistence that even the bride could not forbear.

Kate paces up and down the hardwood floor in what has been designated as the Bride's Room. Martha is working on Sophia's makeup under Aunt Theresa's critical eye. Some of Theresa's tastes originated in the sixties. She abandoned miniskirts decades before, but she still loves the heavy lashes and shadows that Twiggy carried off so well but look bizarre on almost anyone else.

After a summer spent as a model, Kate concluded that for anywhere except a runway or a photoshoot, less is more. She's OK with a few subtle enhancements, but she knows that Rick is content with or even prefers her in au naturel in every sense of the phrase.

Theresa is also a fan of the bouffant hairdos that cause Kate to shudder, just at the amount of hairspray required to maintain them. Kate regards the inability of her intricately crafted head apparel to accommodate one as a godsent excuse to affect a much simpler style.

Martha pulls Kate aside moments before the ceremony, opening her hand to reveal a small blue box. When she flips it open Kate can see that it contains a pair of exquisite sapphire earrings. "I was going to offer them to you as the customary something blue, but they hold more meaning than that. Generations of Rodgers women have worn these earrings, but only those of grit, strength, and substance. I never considered Meredith worthy of them, and other than giving the world Alexis, she has never done anything to change my opinion.

"At first, when you came into Richard's life, I saw him having a pen pal as a lark, an amusement he'd abandon after a few weeks or months. But you have become a part of his heart and his soul. He's flourished as your relationship has grown in a way that I've never seen before. I love my son more than life itself, and you make him happy. For that, I love you, not only as the woman who will soon become my son's wife but as a daughter. I could never hope to replace your mother in your life, but I hope that you will accept me as family, and as the woman you can turn to when you need a friend."

Kate fingers the fiery stones and kisses Martha's cheek. "I'd be honored."

Martha critically appraises Kate's mouth. "Yes, well, it's a good thing I sealed your lipstick."

* * *

For days, Kate had been afraid that it would rain, but the sun is shining brightly, almost too brightly, on the beach below the Hamptons house. To avoid blinding the assemblage with glare from the water Tim presides over a hasty but effective repositioning of the wedding party and guests.

On Jim Beckett's arm, Kate approaches Rick, as Alexis, glowing under the lens of the videographer, plays the Bridal Chorus from "Lohengrin." Kate's unfettered hair, unadorned except for her beaded hat, is stirred by the ocean breeze. Rick finds the urge to plunge fingers into it almost irresistible, but he resolves to hold back for the length of the ceremony - or at least most of it. Jim releases her as Rick reaches out his hand to draw her close.

Bradly Levels, minister of the Hamptons Villages Church, straightens his bow tie and clears his throat. "Dearly beloved, we have gathered here to solemnize yet celebrate the marriage of Katherine Houghton Beckett and Richard Edgar Castle. A marriage is never to be entered into lightly, and these two people have made a long and sometimes perilous journey to stand together before you now.

"They have told me of their lives, their losses, their strivings, their failures, and their triumphs, and I have come to believe that the Lord means for them to become one. Even before they met, Richard's words offered Katherine comfort and refuge. As they came to know each other, they became mutual sources of unflagging support. Today they take the final step to make their union complete and eternal.

Katherine and Richard have both written their own vows to declare their commitment to each other through whatever God places in their path forward. Katherine, you may begin."

Kate wills her voice not to tremble. "Rick, even now, I can picture myself retreating to my mother's favorite chair, grasping your books as weapons to beat back the demons of my grief. When we met, it was as if I'd made my first steps back into a world I thought I'd never rejoin. Your kindness, your patience, your ever-flowing words of encouragement gave me hope and the strength to pursue my dreams. You offered me a hand over every obstacle I encountered and were there to celebrate every achievement I made. I can only hope to be your rock as you have been mine. I promise to love, honor, and cherish you throughout whatever life may bring us, and to always stay in touch."

Levels nods at Rick. "You may answer her."

"Kate, from the moment you asked me to sign your book, I knew I had met someone extraordinary. You were young, but your spirit had been assaulted by grief and loss. I wanted nothing more than to see you healed, for that spirit to emerge stronger and brighter in the person of the woman who now stands before me. I poured that hope into my letters until you came to me, shining more brilliantly than I could have ever imagined. You are my beauty and my light even as you ground me from the storm. With you beside me, I will willingly face whatever challenges are ahead. I promise to love, honor, and cherish you, and always stay in touch.

Finis

A/N Thank you for staying with me, dear readers. Tomorrow we start again with an AU story that begins in "Food to Die For." Castle had experience before with liquid nitrogen and believes that what Perlmutter said about Balthazar Wolf's death doesn't ring true. He convinces a reluctant Beckett to help him investigate a much more far-reaching case than either of them anticipated. Join me for "Shattered Lies."

In the meantime, I'm running a campaign for a book. It's very personal, and probably the most important thing I've ever written or may write. This is the best I can do to communicate a link on this site. They don't allow real ones.

publishizer dot com /sarah-an-autistic-among-the-lying-nts/


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